Our Differences Set Us Apart
by rayychel infinity
Summary: Forever The Sickest Kids: Caleb/Kyle. Caleb is a homeless former addict and Kyle is a stranger with a big heart and an even bigger secret. He takes Caleb in and their dark pasts collide, bringing them both to the breaking point.
1. You Won't Stop Giving Your Love Away

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own any member of FTSK or any other people mentioned herein. Purely fictional, people.

**Warnings are:** language, references to past drug useage, sadness. Review review review :) This is my next attempt at a chaptered story, so we'll see how this goes.

* * *

"Spare some change, ma'am?"

Those words leave Caleb's mouth with desperation, his arm shaking as he lifts it from the folds of the ratty blanket he's buried under, what little change he has rattling nosily in the white plastic cup he's clutching between his thin fingers. The woman passes him and keeps her eyes firmly glued to the sidewalk in front of her. She shakes her head minutely but doesn't say anything.

Caleb's seen this a hundred times today already: the people that pass by like he doesn't exist. Like they don't notice the needle marks on his arm, the sallow complexion to his face. The people nice enough to actually drop change into his cup do it from a distance, like just being in the proximity of him would give them diseases.

He's not addicted, not anymore. That lesson he's already learned.

He sighs when she's gone and retracts his arm again, pulling the blanket tighter around his body. A shiver runs up his spine as the wind picks up, blowing leaves and bits of debris along the street and bringing a deep chill with it.

_You don't know how good you've got it until it's all gone_, Caleb thinks remorsefully. He feels like a crappy Dickens' character—and he doesn't even _like_ Dickens—and if he had room to complain he would. But he's seen the guys in the alleys, the women pushing shopping carts, muttering to themselves.

Caleb Turman is sane in a world of crazies.

Not in any way it is ironic. Not in any way is he fucked. Not in any way is he bitter.

He's just… numb.

Truth be told, Caleb is afraid to even see his appearance anymore. Back when he'd lived at home and had three square meals a day he still didn't look healthy, so being out on the streets? He's sure it's not doing wonders for his complexion, that's sure.

Like his life, his humor has gone down the shitter, it seems.

Caleb's stomach rumbles with hunger but he swallows it down, closing his eyes tightly. He's grown used to the feeling of being empty, grown used to what feels like his stomach caving in.

Right now he kind of wishes he had been anorexic when he became homeless, because at least then he'd like the way his bones jut out too, too far and his skin stretches tight across his frame. He's far from being a walking skeleton, but even that's not a lot of comfort.

An anorexic heroin addict, how commonplace.

He humorlessly laughs into the twilight. This is what he gets for listening to his stupid fucking friends—looking back, he's aware that they weren't really his friends and he should be ashamed to even think of that—and taking that first hit.

That first hit, that first prick of the needle into the vein at the crook of his arm is what fucked up his life. The heroin poured into his system, flowing through his bloodstream, and as he slumped against the wall of a shitty makeshift barn bathroom, he'd never felt more _alive._

Caleb regrets that more than anything in his life, because here he is, some pale street kid with a mind full of regrets and a body full of scars. He's seen the mothers hurry their kids past him, heard their whispers as they leaned down.

"_This is what drugs do to you."_

"_He's just a junkie. Don't pay him any mind, dear."_

His most favorite: _"Don't talk to him. I'm sure he just wants money for more drugs."_

Drugs. That's all anyone thought when they saw him. It's what his parents thought, it's what his friends thought, hell, he'd even thought it. And, well… sometimes after-school specials are right.

Caleb's long-forgotten the high of shooting up in favor of starvation and desperation and the faux high of just _eating_. He tries to forget the day he got kicked out after his mother saw the needle marks on his arms. It hadn't gotten so severe that he'd had to resort to the Nikki Sixx level where he had to shoot up through his dick due to lack of useable veins, but it was enough for her.

He doesn't tell her about the ones on his thighs.

Live and regret, forgive and not forget.

She still doesn't know he's gay. Doesn't know that back when he was sixteen he'd had a boyfriend, Pete, who was twenty-five. It was statutory rape. He never told her that on the first night he'd gotten high, first time he ever felt that sweet kiss of the needle, he'd blown one of his supposed friends, Jack.

All the while he was seeing colors, Jack's voice was distorted and fuzzy as he said, "Fuck, yeah, like that. Come on, you stupid whore." With the music pounding in Caleb's ears, and Jack's cock down his throat, maybe whore was a fitting word.

The aversion that he hosts for that word, he's sure, comes from this night.

Caleb could make lists upon lists, fill all those fucking great libraries of old with the things his mother doesn't—and will never—know.

He sees the last of the sun's rays rapidly sinking behind the buildings of Dallas, the concrete jungle swallowing down the last remaining bits of warmth like a hungry monster. Above him the red of the sky tapers into dark velvet, stars pinpricking the heavens like individually set crystals.

This hardly brings any relief to Caleb. He knows it's winter, and even winter in Texas gets cold at night. He's fully prepared to slink off to an alley—at least there's shelter there, and hopefully a dumpster or two with some semi-decent food left in it—when he sees the figure of someone else start up the street, beanie pulled low over his white-blonde hair, hoodie zipped up over his long, skinny torso.

Caleb fumbles on fingers already numbing for his cup, and he brings it clinking out of the blanket. He opens his mouth to beg—his dignity isn't even half-there anymore—when the guy stops in front of him and fishes out his wallet.

"Hey, dude, I think you need a lot more than just change," the guy says. Caleb looks up, shocked at the friendly tone of his voice, and he's stunned by the wide, wide smile the guy's giving him.

"I—" Caleb starts. He stops, not sure of how to go on. He watches with wide eyes the long, nimble fingers of the boy in front of him dig around in his wallet for a few seconds, eyebrows creased in concentration, until he finally flourishes a ten dollar bill with a triumphant noise.

The guy folds it and drops it in Caleb's cup, then leans down and rests the calloused palm of his hand on Caleb's thin arm. "Buy yourself some decent food," he says softly, his bright blue eyes boring into Caleb's brown ones. "You're too pretty to be out here."

Caleb's awestruck and can only open his mouth, the cup in his hand feeling a thousand times heavier with the weight of the bill in it. He notices the guy's eyes linger down his arm he slides his hand away. Caleb knows he's seen the marks, but he doesn't say anything.

The guy steps back and flashes another bright smile at Caleb before he's disappearing down the darkening sidewalk. Caleb quickly reaches into his cup when the guy's out of sight, the sound of his footsteps long faded away, and digs around the meager nickels and dimes until his dirty fingers enclose around the still-crisp ten dollar note.

Caleb holds it up, still shocked at what just _happened_. Not only did he get handed a ticket to almost a week's worth of food, depending on where he went, but the way the guy had looked at him, all bright eyes and lingering touches, Caleb has a feeling that wasn't going to be the last he saw of the tall, willowy blonde.

* * *

The Burger King down the street is hardly a feast, but it's late and it's the only place that's open right now. And really, only a few of the employees give Caleb withering looks when he enters, the bell dinging brightly in his wake. He's never been more glad that the place is empty than he is now.

The money is clutched tightly in his hands, like he's afraid he's going to lose it at any moment. The girl at the register smiles briefly at him as he looks up at the menu before returning her attention back to the register. Caleb feels completely out of place here in his dirty hoodie and flannel shirt, torn-up Vans, ripped jeans and too-long red hair, not to mention his _desperate_ need for a shave.

Caleb takes a deep breath and walks up to the counter, shakily orders a Whopper combo—small, he knows how dangerous it is to gorge on an empty stomach—and hands her the ten, flinching back out of instinct as she accidentally brushes over his fingers.

He doesn't like to think of himself as a jittery colt, but he so, so is.

"It's okay," she says, her voice light and sweet and as far from condescending as Caleb's ever heard directed at him. "I think it's good that someone gave you money for a proper meal." She hands him his change and pulls a cup out from under the counter, placing it on the tray.

Caleb grabs it and heads over to the soda fountain, chewing on his lip as he looks at the choices. He fills the cup with ice before deciding on Dr. Pepper, something he remembers he loved a long, long time ago (really, it's only been a year or so ago, but on the streets everything seems longer, stretched out to impossible infinity).

When they call his number and he gets his tray, he's absolutely sure for a second or two that's he's died and gone to heaven, because there's _no way_ this is happening.

After he's taken a few bites of his food an employee pulls up a chair next to him with a loud, obnoxious screech. Caleb instinctively shies away a few inches, swallows, says thickly, "What?" and feels increasingly territorial.

This wouldn't be his first time getting made fun of for being skinny, for having ripped clothes and unwashed hair. He's certainly been given enough money before to go get food, and he knows how painful the stares and whispers of other diners can be.

The guy—_Jonathan_, his nametag reads—smiles in a friendly way. "You're usually up the street, aren't you?" On his left wrist is a neon green watch. Caleb focuses on it instead of meeting Jonathan's face, afraid that behind the mask of friendly words and cheerful smiles there'll be a nugget of disgust.

Caleb nods but doesn't say anything, idly pushing the fries around his tray, afraid to eat when he's being watched at such close proximity, afraid he'll give away just how desperate and starving he actually is. Jonathan keeps speaking. "My friend Kyle says he saw you today and gave you some money."

Immediately Caleb's spine straightens and he turns to face Jonathan. "Tall and blonde, right?"

Jonathan nods and pushes the dark bangs off his forehead. "That's the dude. He told me he's seen you there before and he couldn't stand to not give you money anymore. He also said to expect you tonight."

Caleb blushes. Jonathan notices and chuckles, says, "I don't blame you for coming down tonight, seriously. I don't go down your street when I go to work; otherwise I would've given you some money before."

Caleb nods and takes a sip of his drink. Jonathan is nice, and genuinely so, but Caleb kind of wants him to just _go away_ so that he can eat in peace and get the hell out of here. But Jonathan stays and asks Caleb questions until the manager yells from the desk, "Cook, I'm not paying you to chat with the customers all night! Get up here and take over drive-thru so that Bello can take his _actual_ break."

"Oh, gotta bounce," Jonathan says as he jumps up. He holds out his hand and Caleb eyes it warily before taking it. "Nice talking to you…" Jonathan stops, both of them realizing at the same time Caleb hasn't said his name.

"It's Caleb," he replies and shakes Jonathan's hand a final time before the dark-haired boy jogs up to the counter, apologizing to his boss before disappearing back into the kitchen, slipping the headset handed to him by a long-haired boy on over his work-officiated visor.

Caleb laughs to himself as he finishes his food.

After the warmth of the restaurant Caleb _hates_ the alley more than he normally does. He's long since lost the huge cardboard box that had been left here—how cliché—and relies on newspapers and his blanket to keep him from freezing or catching pneumonia or something just as dreadful.

Some life of luxury he's living.

For once, though, Caleb's going to bed with a full stomach. The sated feeling reminds him if when he'd shoot up, how euphoric and happy he felt. He closes his eyes, draws the blanket closer to himself, and sighs happily.


	2. Am I Awake Or Is This Just A Dream?

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and no one. Any band members mentioned herein are the property of themselves.

**Warnings are:** Language, drug useage, hints towards prostitution, boykissing (only a wee bit.) Review, please :) It helps!

* * *

At twenty-two years of age, Caleb is what every aspiring musician _doesn't_ want to be. He's penniless, friendless, and he lost all of his family contacts because of a mistake. As glamorous as Fall Out Boy makes it out to be, burning bridges is anything but.

At seventeen, Caleb befriended Jack Barakat. Two months later he went to his first rave, and if he wanted to be succinct, he'd say it all went downhill the moment he stepped into the abandoned barn.

The amount of kids packed into the room was suffocating. The room flashed pink, purple, blue, all in a dizzyingly fast fashion. He was pretty sure that in almost every corner there was at least one couple sucking face.

He was awkward and scared but let Jack lead him around anyway. His fingers enclosed in Jack's large, sweaty palm, Caleb didn't feel the security he thought he would. Instead he felt like an unwilling horse being led prancing around the ring when he'd rather be running free in the mountains.

Really, this was the equivalent of cold hard regret stemming from his heart and flooding his body. He couldn't think over the pumping of the bass, how it shook the dirt ground under his moccasins. He reached up a hand just as sweaty as Jack's to push falling strands of red hair away from his eyes.

As a frail church boy with no party experience whatsoever, he knew he was fucked.

Some party remix he didn't know blasted over the hidden speakers. The crowd sped up, almost robotically, and now Jack was leading Caleb to a hidden bathroom. Inside it was dirty, once-white walls tinged brown and rust-colored with blood and dirt.

It was one of those things that screamed _tetanus, STDs, streptococcus_ just by looking at it. Like a twisted Picasso painting, swirls of neutral colors making an indiscernible scene. Like _Silent Hill_ when the darkness takes over.

In a morbid, twisted sense, it was all beautiful; it was all a form of artwork Caleb knew he could never appreciate.

Jack looked back at him, thick eyebrows raised high on his forehead as he said, "Well, don't take all day. Come on, Turman." Caleb had no choice but to follow his beckoning fingers, feeling like he just signed his own death pact.

In the small corner created by the last stall a man was sitting on the floor, threading a string through the spaces between his fingers. Caleb didn't want to go any closer but Jack tugged persistently on his arm until he moved.

The guy on the floor looked up, eyes wild and tinged with red, his greasy brown hair sticking out in every direction. He narrowed his eyes when he saw Caleb, then slid his gaze over to Jack. His eyes didn't exactly light up like he was seeing an old friend, but most of the cool indifference had left his face.

"Jack motherfucking Barakat," he said in a voice as gravelly as if he'd gargled with rusty nails. "What a surprise." He reached into the dark brown satchel on the floor beside his legs and fished around for a few seconds before pulling out a syringe. "The usual?"

"This is Caleb," Jack said, pushing the aforementioned boy a few steps closer. "It's his first time."

The guy raised an eyebrow but reached back into the dark abyss of the satchel for another syringe regardless. He handed them both to Jack, who reached into his back pocket and pulled out four crumpled twenties.

Caleb eyed the syringes warily, chewing on his bottom lip. "Jack, I don't think—"

Jack slapped one of the syringes into Caleb's palm. "Don't think, then. Just do." Caleb watched as Jack pulled the covering off the end of the long, thin needle with his teeth, spitting it onto the floor. He held out his arm, palm upward, and looked for a moment before sticking the needle into a vein.

Pressed the plunger, the motion going in slo-mo in Caleb's eyes.

More or less Jack slumped to the ground with a moan, eyes sliding shut as he held the needle to his arm. Caleb's brown eyes widened and he found himself thing _well, maybe just one hit…_

He took the other syringe from his palm, wiped off the sweat marks. Pulling off the covering, Caleb felt Jack's eyes on him, heard his weak, euphoric voice say, _find a vein, Caleb. Just find a goddamn vein and you'll be in heaven._

Caleb pressed the tip of the needle deep into the crease of his arm and pushed the plunger down. Let his inhibitions go. The room spun, and suddenly he found himself on the floor next to Jack, both walking in a real-unreal world.

Caleb couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but he knew from intuition or something this was where his life would fuck up forever.

* * *

The next day is no different than any of the other ones on the streets. It's sunny and cloudless and Caleb is glad he doesn't need that disgusting blanket. Today he's managed to clean up his old acoustic guitar, the only thing he'd taken from home.

He's on the street tuning it, tongue poking through his lips in concentration, when a shadow falls over him. Caleb begins to say "Bro, you're blocking my light—" when another voice cuts him off.

"Hey there, pretty redhead. I didn't know you played."

Caleb's neck snaps up so fast he feels like he's gotten whiplash. After wincing in pain he opens his eyes to see the boy from the night before—Kyle, if he's not mistaken. "W-What're you doing here?' he stammers.

Kyle grins and in the sunlight his smile is just _that much more_ dazzling. Caleb can see the silvery glint of a nose ring in one nostril. "Thought I'd drop by and say hello before heading off to the BK Lounge to see Jonathan."

He eyes up the acoustic in Caleb's hand. Caleb blushes, feeling somewhat ashamed at the awful state of the thing—it's surely seen better days, and he knows he's lucky he's still got all six strings intact.

As much as Caleb loves having Kyle stare at him like that, the extreme blondeness of his hair is reflective, and Caleb's getting tired of squinting. "Do you mind moving? Your hair's kinda blinding me," he ends up saying.

Kyle does move, but not before he smirks and retorts, "Firecrotch."

Caleb scoffs and tries his hardest not to smile. "You're mature, you drugstore blonde."

Kyle pats his hair gingerly, smoothing down the layers as he feigns shock. "Oh ho, who's mature _now_?" His smile looks like it could split open his face, and Caleb can't hold back his laughter anymore.

"I'd say now that your teeth are blinding me," Caleb says, plucking a string to make sure it's perfectly tuned, "but I like it, so I'm not going to complain." He's a terrible flirt, and even though words have always been somewhat of a strong point for him, he still hasn't mastered the art of using them on someone yet.

Just then Kyle sits down in the middle of the street, Indian-style, and looks expectantly at Caleb. "What are you doing _now_?" Caleb asks, exasperated. He needs to start playing, because if he doesn't get the people on their lunch hour rush he'll get almost no one the rest of the day.

Kyle shrugs and plays with a string on his hoodie. "Just waiting for you to start playing."

Caleb smiles and shakes his head. "Relentless."

"It's what I've been told," Kyle responds, still grinning.

"I—" Caleb wants to say he only plays for money, something he's had no trouble telling other people before. Kyle is different though, and Caleb can't bring himself to utter those words in front of him. Instead, he starts playing some old Blink song.

His choice of music does earn him some money—dollars, this time, along with the usual change, and for that Caleb's elated. Kyle whistles when he's done. He gets up, says, "Talent _and_ beauty. How'd I get so lucky?"

Kyle holds out his hand. Caleb looks at it, confused, until Kyle laughs. "Come on. I can't leave you out here a second longer. Someone might snatch you up and then I'll be shit out of luck."

"I don't trick, if that's what you're insinuating," Caleb replies as he takes Kyle's hand.

"No, no," Kyle says, still laughing as he pulls Caleb up off the ground. "You'd be fucking decimated if you tried that."

Caleb tries his best to look insulted, but it's hard when a tall, blonde beauty is endlessly complementing him. "I think I can handle my own, thank you very much."

Even he knows that's a lie. He's tried prostituting himself before—desperate times call for desperate measures, what the fuck _ever_—and he'd left before the john could even take off his pants.

And he's not blind in any way. He saw how the johns driving by, or walking by, eyed him up, staring not-so-subtly up and down his body. Caleb knew that, to them, he looked like an underage kid, and to many of those guys, there was nothing better.

There's something about baring your body for a complete stranger that breaks any kind of secrets you've held to yourself before. In the end you both go home and hopefully never see each other again. So what if you're $300 richer? In Caleb's eyes, it's not worth it.

Give him the choice of starving or having anonymous sex with a stranger, he'd go for the former. Blame it on his religious upbringing, whatever. He's still got some kind of morals left, unlike that woman who used to share his street and his alley.

Pretty still hung to her weathered face, and even her tattered clothes still looked presentable. Caleb had spent countless days and nights listening to her ramble on about her life before the streets, how she'd made over a thousand dollars from tricking in just one area.

"Then why don't you leave?" Caleb finally asked one night. He wasn't trying to be rude, or even trying to scare her off. He, as a newcomer, was genuinely curious. He hated this life, and if she made so much money, why wasn't she _gone_?

She'd only stared at him, blonde hair hanging limply around her face, once-vibrant blue eyes—at least Caleb suspected—dull and a lifeless shade of cornflower blue.

The next day she was gone. Where, Caleb never found out. He never bothered to ask, or go looking for her. She might've gotten some sense in her and made something of herself, or found a different street.

"Mhmm," Kyle says, raising a dark eyebrow. His gaze falls on Caleb's bare arm, and once the redhead catches his stare he's pulling down his hoodie sleeves as fast as he can. He glares at Kyle, challenging him to say anything.

"You're clean, aren't you?" Kyle asks as he begins walking up the street toward Burger King. Caleb has no choice but to follow behind him, guitar still clutched in his head. They're both garnering some stares from passersby but ignore them.

"If you're asking me if I'm still addicted, no," Caleb replies angrily. "No money, remember? Or are you _also_ insinuating that I'm some kind of STD-riddled street urchin?"

"Not in any way," Kyle replies as he opens the glass door. Caleb follows him and doesn't flinch down from the curious stares of diners. He marches up to Kyle and grabs the purple sleeve of his hoodie. He notices, now, that they're the same height and Kyle is almost as pale as he is.

_Adorable_ wouldn't be the exact word to describe Kyle.

"Then what the fuck _are_ you insinuating?" Caleb asks, voice dangerously low. He doesn't back down, just stares straight into Kyle's eyes intensely, anger boiling hot in his veins. He sees one corner of Kyle's lips curl up into a grin. "This," the other boy says, and leans forward to kiss Caleb.

_Shocked_ wouldn't be the exact word to describe how Caleb feels when Kyle pulls away like nothing happened. He reaches up and places two fingers to his lips, raising his eyebrows in silent question.

"Look, to me, you're pretty no matter how homeless you are," Kyle says. "And you've got potential. Letting you rot on that street corner should be a crime. Redheads are a dying breed after all." He playfully socks Caleb in the arm.

Caleb doesn't have the energy or state of mind to make up a comeback. He's pretty sure he's doing a damn good imitation of a goldfish and he sputters out what should be words but aren't.

Kyle slings an arm around Caleb's shoulders and pulls him close. Instinctively Caleb squirms, trying to get away, but Kyle just holds him tighter and says, "I'll take you home and you can shower if you're so worried. You're fine, Cay."

"Wait a second," Caleb says and twists to look at Kyle. "How'd you know my name?"

"You forget," Kyle replies as he lets Caleb go and walks to the counter. "My best friend works here."

Jonathan comes up to the counter and Caleb realizes what happened. Jonathan sees him and waves him over, grinning like an idiot. "Long time no see, Caleb."

Caleb rolls his eyes and switches his guitar from one hand to the other. Kyle watches the transaction and says, "Go. Sit down and I'll be there in a second."

"Not a kid," Caleb mutters, but he still has that warm, fuzzy feeling in his navel as he heads to a booth in the back of the restaurant. Kyle actually _cares_, one of the first people to do so in almost a year. There's no way Caleb can push him away.

Caleb notices that when Kyle comes back with a tray—two Whopper combos, shit he's in love—and they've finished eating, the blonde-haired boy heads off for the bathroom without explanation. Caleb doesn't say anything, doesn't think much of it, and Kyle looks healthy as a horse when he returns.

Maybe Caleb's just paranoid. He did, after all, live on the streets.

* * *

Kyle's apartment is five or so blocks away, high up on the sixth floor. He's a gentleman when he ushers Caleb in, taking his guitar and directing him towards the bathroom. He disappears into what Caleb suspects is his room and returns with a pair of jeans, boxers, and a shirt.

Caleb blushes as he takes the bundle, refusing to look at the boxers folded within the shirt. Somehow this seems almost intimate. "Dude, I can't take all your shit."

Kyle shakes his head and steps out of the bathroom. "I don't care. Besides, all you've got is what you're wearing, and for some reason I'm thinking you don't want to wear those much longer." He raises an eyebrow as if he's waiting for Caleb to rebut.

"Fine." Caleb sighs and strips off his hoodie. Kyle takes it, says, "This we can wash, though," and is gone and closing the door before Caleb can say thanks.

Caleb strips off the rest of his clothes, shakes his head when he sees the amount of dirt and pollution caked on his body. The shower is on the far wall, large for a small apartment. He goes over and turns on the taps, flinching when some of the beginning cold water hits his arms and face.

He turns his back to the full-length mirror on the wall next to the shower. When the water warms up enough he steps in and almost immediately feels his muscles relax.

The water dripping to the slippery floor from his body is light brown with dirt, and when Caleb grabs a bath pouf from a rack and pours body wash on it, he can almost see the change in skin color when he begins scrubbing.

The shampoo on a rack above his head smells like Kyle, and he takes comfort in that as he lathers up his hair with it. He doesn't like to think that he's falling for the other boy, but he knows he is and he knows he's falling hard.

Caleb isn't even aware of the temperature of the water until he gets out and notices the bathroom's fogged up, all the mirrors opaque. His skin is light red from both the heat and from the fierce scrubbing he'd done.

He wraps a towel around his waist after quickly drying his hair and walks over to the sink where Kyle's clothes are folded. Picking up the jeans, he unfolds them—before he got into all of this he knows he wouldn't have been able to fit into these—and a note tumbles out and falls to the ground.

Curious, Caleb leans down and picks it up, unfolding it.

_Caleb, I care. That's all that matters._

The smile never leaves Caleb's face as he dresses. And the fact that the boxers Kyle gave him have polar bears on them makes it just that much cuter.


	3. We're Doing It Way Too Well

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and no one. All band members mentioned herein are the property of themselves.

**Warnings are:** Frottage, penetration, some bad language ;) The rating on this story will be bumped up to M. I love reviews! :)

* * *

Kyle is sitting on the couch when Caleb reappears. He sits down on the cushions next to him and says, "I kept all my dirty clothes in there. Where do you want me to put them?"

Kyle waves his hand dismissively, never taking his eyes off the movie on TV. "Leave them. I'll deal with it in the morning." He finally turns and faces Caleb. "How was the shower?"

Something in his tone makes Caleb feel like he's implying something but he laughs it off and says, "Fuck it was so good. I can't remember the last time I've had a good shower."

"That shirt looks good on you," Kyle says, eyes darting down, then up. Caleb looks down at the old A Day to Remember shirt he's wearing and raises an eyebrow. He knows Kyle's deflecting; he's not that dumb.

"You're saying it never looked good on you?" Caleb replies nonchalantly. "I can't see that happening." He runs a hand through his hair. It feels so _good_ to do that again, to not have the city grime on his hair or skin. He feels recharged, more or less.

Kyle laughs and shuts off the TV. "I'm saying it looks better on you than it ever did me. And I'm sure that with a few meals it'll fit even better." He reaches on the table by his end of the couch and pulls up a menu for Chinese food. "Speaking of, how about some food? This place has, like, _the_ best egg rolls ever."

Caleb agrees and Kyle dials the place. While he's talking on the phone Caleb looks around the apartment. For a guy in his twenties who apparently seems to do nothing but pick up homeless boys off the street, the place is nice.

Not exactly the biggest living quarters ever, but the furniture is nice—instantly Caleb thinks Ikea and is reminded of _Fight Club_—and there's a few skateboards propped up on the far wall, along with a set of drums. _So _that's_ why he was interested in me._

Kyle hangs up and sets his BlackBerry down on the table. "Caleb," he says softly.

Caleb turns and immediately Kyle's pressing against him, hands warm on his face. His breath smells like coffee and Caleb finds that comforting. "You know I don't normally bring in random boys," he says, his lips almost brushing against Caleb's.

"You're telling me you… don't do this all the time?" Caleb murmurs, breath catching in his throat, excitement sending his heart into overdrive. "You seemed like the type for callboys."

Kyle breathes a laugh and says, "Only for pretty, damaged redheads," and kisses Caleb.

Caleb says something that may or may not be an actual sentence before his hands are clutching desperately to Kyle's shoulders as the blonde licks across the seam of his mouth.

"Jesus, fuck, Kyle," Caleb gasps, moving a hand up to tangle in Kyle's hair, pushing his head closer. "I feel like I should've asked for the money up front."

Kyle laughs loudly and pulls away, grinning. His lips are red and shining and fuck, if Caleb wasn't hard he is now. "I like you way more than that, Cay-baby."

"Oh, God. What a terrible nickname."

Kyle reaches out a hand to brush against Caleb's cheek. "We've got a half-hour or so until they deliver the food. What do you say we make the best of it?" He has a glint in his eyes—darkened to navy blue now—that tells Caleb it'll be so, so good.

"I'd be an idiot if I didn't say yes," Caleb replies, and pushes Kyle down onto the couch, settling between his legs. They don't have nearly enough time to take clothes off—which is such a shame, because Caleb just changed into these jeans—so he settles for moving and straddling Kyle's left thigh, rutting against it as he leans down to press a kiss to Kyle's neck.

Kyle moans in such a pretty, pretty way and tilts his neck to the side, giving Caleb more access. He thrusts upward and his hands come to up clench at Caleb's hips, sides, wherever he can reach, touching like he can't get enough, like Caleb is a map and he's an explorer who wants to memorize every inch of it.

Their mouths attach wetly, tongues darting back and forth. Caleb catches Kyle's tongue, bites on it gently as he rolls his hips downward. Kyle makes a noise akin to a moan and pushes back up. His hands go to Caleb's ass, squeezing through the denim of the jeans, pushing him down, kneading the flesh.

Caleb grunts, resting all his weight on one arm as he reaches a hand down to slide up Kyle's shirt. The blonde's torso is skinny, and in his horizontal position Caleb feels like he can caress each individual rib. He brushes his thumb against Kyle's nipple before sliding back down, earning a small, breathy moan as he does so.

He pulls away from Kyle's mouth and sits up, moving now to straddle Kyle's hips. He looks down as he grinds his ass against Kyle's cock, moving in slow, lazy figure-eights.

Kyle's head is tossed back in bliss, hands grappling at Caleb's thin hips. From his position it stretches the skin on his neck, chases away the shadows under his strong jaw line. Caleb leans down, nips sharply at Kyle's jaw, nibbles at his earlobe before pulling back, Kyle's breathy, staccato moan echoing in his ears.

"Fuck, so good. 'M close…" He thrusts up against Caleb's ass.

Caleb reaches a hand down to palm his cock through his jeans, rubbing slowly until he feels Kyle's hand knock his out of the way and pick up where he left off. "Come on," Kyle mutters, bracing his weight on one elbow as he works at Caleb's cock. "Shit, Caleb."

Caleb moans and thrusts into Kyle's hand as he comes, feeling Kyle's body spasm under him as the other boy comes not long after him. Exhausted, Caleb collapses down and lazily presses his lips to Kyle's. They breathe the same air, lips occasionally brushing against each other, until the door buzzes.

"Thank you," is what Caleb says when Kyle gets up. Kyle looks back at him, hair sticking out in every direction, and smiles before opening the door.

* * *

"So how'd you end up on the streets?" Kyle asks while they're eating. He'd gone into his room and gotten them both sweatpants and Caleb new boxers—he swears he'll spontaneously combust if his face gets any redder—and Caleb really, _really_ kind of just wants to shower with Kyle.

He's so, _so_ screwed.

It's not like they didn't just get off together because he's aware that they did, and in no way does Caleb regret it, but he's known Kyle for a little less than a day, and known his name for even less than that. He doesn't really like to think of himself as a whore.

Caleb swallows a mouthful of noodles, says, "It's obvious," and continues eating like Kyle didn't say anything. He can feel the blonde's eyes on him and he shifts on the couch, pointedly not looking at Kyle.

"No, really," Kyle says, and through a lock of red hair Caleb sees him put down his take-out carton. "I know about the… the marks, but there's obviously more than that."

Caleb sighs and puts his own carton down. "Fine. If you really wanna know, I was a heroin addict. I fucked up and I learned my lesson, and it doesn't make me a better person." He blinks back the unexpected barrage of tears.

Kyle's looking at him, silently motioning him to go on. Caleb sighs, takes a deep shuddering breath. "I—I came from a religious family, and all my life I was a good kid. Everyone loved me. Then in high school I got in with a bad group. I got into drugs. My mom found me shooting up in my bedroom one day." He stops for a moment when Kyle wraps his arms around his shoulders. "She kicked me out, then."

"You're too good for them," Kyle says softly, burying his face in the crook of Caleb's neck.

Caleb laughs bitterly. "Yeah, it really seems like that."

Kyle pulls away and furrows his brows. "If you say so," he says and doesn't mention it again as they finish eating. Kyle volunteers to throw away the cartons and Caleb doesn't object. He's full and comfortable on the couch, a feeling that hasn't been so common for him.

He can hear Kyle go down the hall and close a door—bathroom, Caleb thinks, the limited number of rooms in the apartment really narrows down his choice—and then turn the faucet on full blast. When Kyle returns his breath smells and tastes minty. "Had to brush my teeth," Kyle responded after he breaks the short kiss, looping his arm through Caleb's. "No better way to keep these pearly whites so… well, white."

Caleb laughs. He doesn't say anything when Kyle reaches for the remote, and neither does the Kyle. At first Caleb is afraid he's pissed off Kyle somehow, but that flies out the window when Kyle scoots close to him when he turns the movie back on.

He figures the way Kyle nestles against his body is apology enough.

* * *

Caleb sleeps on the couch at first. He turns down Kyle's offer to sleep in his bed ("No, dude, really. I'm fine. I've been sleeping by myself for over a year.") and sees hurt flash across Kyle's face for a second before it's gone.

"I just thought you'd… you know," Kyle says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively as he pulls Caleb close to him. Caleb definitely, definitely knows.

"I think sex should wait," he says, laughing, even though he so, _so_ doesn't.

"Well, who said anything about sex?" Kyle whispers. He slides his hands from Caleb's shoulders, brushing over the flat planes of his chest, before stopping at his hips. "I was thinking more along the lines of a rimjob or something equally as exciting."

Caleb sucks in a breath. "Fuck, Kyle. That's not _fair_. Are you always this horny?"

"Only when I've got a cute boy willing to suck my dick." Kyle mouths at Caleb's neck, lips feeling like branding irons against the redhead's over-stimulated skin. "Am I changing your mind yet?"

On any other guy, at any other time, Caleb would be gone faster than he could say "fuck you." On Kyle, it's endearing in a way. Already Caleb could tell that the blonde's personality was grating but sweet, and he _did_ take Caleb in without hesitation.

Besides, he's only twenty-two and his libido is still going strong. Caleb latches his hands onto Kyle's shoulders, moving one hand up to tug at Kyle's blonde hair, yanking him away from his neck. Kyle gasps, says, "You like it rough, don't you?"

"Nngh," Caleb replies. His mouth and brain don't seem to want to work together, but apparently his hands have no problem zeroing in on Kyle's waist, circling around his hips.

Kyle rocks against him and Caleb doesn't bother to hold his moans back. He's _done_ fighting this and knows he's a complete sucker for the blonde _already_, fuck his life. "Kyle, seriously—oh, _God_—maybe w-we should wait." He tilts his head to the side as Kyle nibbles on his neck, sliding his fingers under the waistband of Caleb's—his—sweatpants.

Caleb's brain fizzes out as Kyle backs him into his room, whispering into his ear step for step. Caleb closes his eyes when Kyle's lips finally trail up his neck, leaving the skin feeling wet and raw, and to his mouth. Kyle tastes like sweat, skin, spearmint Scope and a hint of Chinese food, a combination Caleb somehow finds intriguing.

"Come on," Kyle whispers, teeth sharp on Caleb's jaw. He moves them both a couple steps and Caleb feels the backs of his knees hit the edge of Kyle's bed, and suddenly they're toppling over.

"Fuck, okay, okay," Caleb says as he rolls out from under Kyle's body to strip off the sweatpants first, then his shirt. He clumsily helps the other boy with his, sliding Kyle's shirt up and off, then pushing down his sweatpants.

"Hands and knees, okay?" Kyle says, turning Caleb around before the redhead can even blink. Caleb starts to say something along the lines of "Why so anxious?" or "Let's take it slower," but then Kyle's pushing him down onto the bed, onto his knees, and now all Caleb can see are the pillows and the dark grain of the wooden headboard.

Kyle moves to kneel behind him, lightly running his hands along Caleb's body, making him shudder. He feels Kyle's lips trail along the skin of one cheek, slowly moving to the other, teeth marking his skin as he goes.

Caleb moans, squirms a bit when he feels the pad of Kyle's thumb, slick with spit, rub against his hole. The tip slides in with minimal resistance and he reaches his other hand under Caleb's body to stroke his cock.

"Shit, Ky," Caleb gasps, pushing back against Kyle's thumb. "Go faster."

Kyle shakes his head even though Caleb can't see it. "Not a chance, Romeo."

Caleb grunts as Kyle slips his thumb in to the second knuckle and says, "You've got a… piss-poor choice in nicknames, dude." He can hear Kyle laugh from behind him, and then there's the small pop of a cap opening followed by Kyle's thumb leaving him. He whines.

Kyle pours some of the lube onto his hand, warming it between his fingers before he presses his index finger into Caleb, sliding slowly until it's all the way in and Caleb moans in satisfaction.

Sneaking a glance at the other boy, Kyle sees that Caleb's head is dropped down, arms shaking as he pants. His biceps twitch as he holds himself up and his eyes are squeezed tightly shut. "Feel good?" Kyle asks as he starts to work his middle finger in alongside his index finger even though he _knows_ that it does.

"Fuck, _yes_," Caleb says.

Kyle stretches Caleb, crooking his fingers inside the other boy until he sees Caleb's body tremble and hear his sharp intake of breath as he curses. Kyle stretches his fingers out and leans down, laving his tongue over the space his fingers create.

Caleb moans, long and throaty, and resists the urge to push back into Kyle's face. "Oh, Jesus. Goddamn, Kyle. Don't fucking stop." Kyle doesn't, and he reaches his other hand up, skimming along the inside of Caleb's thigh, brushing past his balls before he awkwardly wraps his hand around Caleb's cock.

Kyle points his tongue, dips it into Caleb, and _shit_ it's so amazing. Caleb whines high in his throat and squirms. "Fuck, fuck, _fuuuuuuck._"

"You gonna come for me?" Kyle whispers. He moves back and gets better leverage on Caleb's cock, squeezes tightly and takes satisfaction in Caleb's pained-pleasured groan. "Do you want my tongue fucking you, or my cock?"

Caleb moans, thrusting down into Kyle's fist. "Jesus, Kyle. You've got a fucking dirty mouth."

"You have no idea," Kyle replies facetiously. He slips his fingers out of Caleb's ass. He knows, can tell, that Caleb wants _actual_ sex to wait—honestly, Kyle does too—so instead he reaches into his nightstand drawer and pulls out a short, thick vibrator.

Originally intended as a gag gift from Jonathan—it's pink and sparkly, and he'd almost _killed_ the older boy when he'd told Kyle he'd almost gotten the _Twilight_ one instead—Kyle's put it to good use.

Of course, he doesn't tell Jonathan this. And he doesn't tell Caleb what he's doing when he slicks it with lube and ever-so gently starts to ease it inside the redhead. Caleb's hips buck and jerk, and from the head of the bed he lets out another pained groan.

"What the fuck?" he gets out. Anger laces his words like poison. "Kyle, I told you not to—"

His next words are cut off and drowned out by the screech he emits when Kyle flips the switch on the base of the vibrator. His back, already glistening with teardrop shaped beads of sweat, arches and ripples as Kyle thrusts the vibrator in, then out.

"Shh," Kyle instructs, grinning toothily. "I have neighbors, dude." He contradicts this with a particularly hard push and a direction change. The head of it hits Caleb's prostate and he clamps his mouth shut to muffle his moans.

"You bastard," Caleb gasps, shamelessly fucking himself onto the vibrator. He knows he's getting close, can already feel the low burn in the pit of his stomach, and Kyle's being absolutely _no help_.

"Fuck, just…" Caleb trails off as Kyle pushes the vibrator in and out again; back arching, hips pushing toward the mattress. "Dude, just fucking _touch me_." He really, _really_ doesn't want to start humping the mattress, but he's desperate.

Kyle snakes a hand between Caleb's legs, trailing his fingers up the length of Caleb's cock. "Is this what you want?" he asks, voice smoky. He presses against Caleb's back, rests his lips on the heated skin of Caleb's side.

"Fucking cocktease," Caleb whines. He braces his weight with one arm as he reaches the other back, grabbing Kyle's hand to fully wrap it around his cock. He lets out a breathy moan of relief.

When Caleb moves his hand away Kyle stills his own hand. He gently bites at Caleb's skin, says, "This feels good, doesn't it?" Caleb can only nod his head and buck up into Kyle's loose fist.

"You're not going to come until I tell you to," Kyle continues. Caleb's eyes snap open.

"I—I'm so close," he pleads, but Kyle shakes his head.

"Nuh-uh, pretty boy. I don't care if you were already jizzing when I told you. Until I give you the green light you're going to stay like this. Now on your back."

Caleb does as he's told and when he flops onto his back Kyle's quick to kneel between his spread legs, one hand on the vibrator, one hand on Caleb's cock. "I don't have a cock ring," Kyle laments as he moves his hand to the base of Caleb's cock, squeezing tightly. "So this'll have to do."

With a gasp Caleb arches up into the touch, body torn on whether it should be in pleasure or pain. "Jesus," he says. He barely has time to actually get a good look at Kyle's body before the blonde is pushing the vibrator back into him.

"Shit, Kyle," Caleb groans, hands clenching tightly onto the comforter. His hips unconsciously push down onto the vibrator, and every time he feels himself get close he's pulled down by the constricting grip Kyle has on his cock. He squirms and whimpers, unlatching a hand from the comforter to grip tightly onto Kyle's arm.

Desperation sets in and Caleb starts mewling. He digs his fingers into Kyle's arm, but the blonde barely seems to notice the pain. "Let me come, oh _God_. I'll do whatever the fuck you want, I swear."

Another slide in and out, another direct push against Caleb's prostate. "Anything?"

The burn in Caleb's muscles as he twists causes him to close his eyes. "Anything," he repeats, teeth gritted. Kyle contemplates for a few seconds, moving the vibrator in little circles, before he leans down to Caleb's ear.

"Promise not to leave me."

Caleb gasps again, arches his back and digs his head into the pillows. "I promise."

Kyle lets go of Caleb's cock and the redhead moans, body trembling as he comes onto his stomach, the hardest he knows he's ever come in his life. Kyle fucks him through it, pulling the vibrator out once Caleb stills.

"C'mere," Caleb rasps, breathing heavily. Kyle raises an eyebrow but scoots up the bed, straddling Caleb's chest. The younger boy lifts up his head to take Kyle's cock into his mouth.

Kyle moans, hands clenching in Caleb's red hair, fighting the urge to thrust into his mouth. "Shit, close. C'mon, Cay." It only takes a few more seconds before he's coming down Caleb's throat, head tossed back with a long, low groan.

"Shit, bro, I feel like I should be stocking up on the bondage pleather and handcuffs if you're like this all the time," Kyle gasps after he collapses next to Caleb on his bed. Caleb turns to look at him, an incredulous look on his face.

"Dude, you have a _pink sparkly vibrator_. And you were the one playing rough, not me."

Kyle laughs and folds his arms behind his head. "Yeah, so?"

"Let me repeat myself—_pink sparkly vibrator._ If you didn't just fuck me with it I'd suspect you were gay."

"So you'd think I was straight if I had it but didn't fuck you with it?"

Caleb's forehead creases in concentration. He knows Kyle has logic's side and knows he's beat. "Okay, maybe not. But still. The principle."

"Thought so," Kyle response with a jubilant smile, reaching up a hand to tenderly brush a stray hair off Caleb's cheek. "I always win." He wraps his arm around Caleb's shoulders and pulls him closer so that Caleb can rest his head on Kyle's chest.

Kyle looks down at the younger boy, sees his lids droop with what can only be exhaustion. "Tired?" he asks even though he already knows the answer. He'd be surprised if Caleb wasn't.

Caleb nods and laughs. "Looks like I'll be sleeping here tonight." The glint in his eye as he looks up at Kyle suggests that he knew all along this was a ploy.

And really? Caleb _did_ know all along.

"That it does," Kyle responds genially, pulling the covers up over them.

That night, and from then on, they sleep in the same bed.


	4. I'll Be There Just To Watch You Fall

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and no one. Everyone here is the property of themselves.

* * *

A few days after Caleb has gotten settled into Kyle's apartment he goes out to shop. He fingers the three twenties in his pocket and smiles. Kyle is a generous dude, someone Caleb knows he's lucky he's got.

He's literally down the block when his phone—bought by Kyle, and okay, it's not the coolest phone on the market but it works—buzzes and Caleb pulls it out of his pocket and flips it open.

"_—Yay or nay?"_

Caleb's honestly afraid to open the attached picture—he knows what is—but, after all, he's known Kyle for roughly six or seven days and Kyle _had_ given him a rimjob, so there aren't really many more secrets between them. He takes a deep breath and presses a button.

His jaw drops when the photo loads and that's such a fucking cliché thing to say but it does. He should've expected this, and he kind of did, but that still isn't all the preparation he needed.

Because on his screen is a mirror picture of Kyle—that motherfucking scene kid—with his BlackBerry covering his face. Seriously, Kyle doesn't even _have_ an iPhone so the preceding text was completely unnecessary, but the rest of him is completely naked, his shock of white-blonde hair brighter under the fluorescent lighting in his bathroom.

He feels really dirty thinking this, but Caleb _wants_ to see Kyle's face, see if he's smirking or if his face is completely serious. See if his eyes are closed in pleasure.

Before, Caleb thought being homeless was embarrassing. Now he's pretty sure popping a woody in the middle of the street is worse because it's _Kyle_ with his hand wrapped around his cock. His pale, never-ending torso is a mix of muscular and skinny, and for once Caleb can stare openly, something Kyle normally doesn't want him to do.

Kyle is scrawny—like, seriously, _really_ scrawny. Caleb is almost in shock at the neat lines of Kyle's ribs, the way his stomach caves inward at his pelvic region, all wrapped in his pretty pale skin like a bow on a Christmas present. In that one second Caleb understands why Kyle had flipped him over so quickly the night before, whether it was from embarrassment or something more.

_Eating disorder_ is what flashes across Caleb's mind, but the redhead instantly pushes it back. No way, not on Kyle. The boy was like a saint to Caleb, and if he remembered church, Sunday school, that doesn't happen. Never.

The quality is shit, since it _is_ a BlackBerry after all, but _fuck_. That doesn't make it any less there.

Caleb furious-types back, biting into his bottom lip so hard he thinks he should probably be breaking skin.

"_You fucker. You don't even have an iPhone._"

The response back is nearly instantaneous. Knowing Kyle, the blonde was probably lounging on the couch, smirking as he waited for Caleb's response. The visual should make the redhead angry, but now all he can imagine is pressing Kyle down onto that couch and fucking him senseless.

"_Still got you to look, didn't it?"_

"…_I hate you."_

* * *

"You whore," Caleb says as he opens the door to Kyle's apartment. He closes it and steps into the living room, toeing off his shoes. He drops his bags onto the ground next to them and finds Kyle in the kitchen, making stir-fry on the stove.

Kyle turns to look at him. "Who, me?" he asks innocently, grinning in a way that contradicts his words. He puts the spoon he was using down onto the counter and steps forward.

Caleb scoffs. "No, the other dudes sending me pictures."

"I have competition?"

The hard punch Caleb delivers to Kyle's arm is remorseless.

"Dude, seriously," Caleb says, "we've known each other for like a week. I don't wanna say it's awkward, but… it's awkward."

Kyle looks slightly hurt when Caleb says this but doesn't comment. The look is replaced in seconds with his usual playfulness, and Caleb could almost say he'd made the whole thing up. Kyle wraps his arms around Caleb's neck. "I'm sorry."

Caleb shrugs and blushes when Kyle pecks a kiss to the end of his nose. Kyle pulls away and holds out his hand. "Truce?"

"Not sure if this is necessarily a truce moment," Caleb replies, taking Kyle's hand.

"Alright," Kyle says, "then it's… an apology. I'm a dude, and you're cute." He grins, that way that makes the tendons in his neck stand out, show the healthy pink gum around his white, white teeth. Caleb knows it's his nicer way of saying _it's not my fault you make me constantly horny_.

They shake.

Caleb says, "I'd totally jerk off to that photo, though." And he would, without a doubt.

* * *

Caleb Turman isn't blind. He notices things, and he's not sure if Kyle thinks he's dumb or what, but the wiry blonde disappearing after nearly every meal isn't exactly subtle. He doesn't want to call Kyle out on it because he seems healthy enough, but Caleb knows addiction like the back of his hand—or the inside his arm.

He knows he'd been right to assume an eating disorder last week. Kyle's not good at hiding it, but Caleb's not sure if it's because he's not used to having someone live at his apartment, or if he just doesn't _care_. Maybe he thinks that because Caleb was once addicted too he'd understand.

Truthfully Caleb _doesn't_ understand. He doesn't understand why Kyle would do this to himself and why Kyle would think that just because the homeless boy he'd picked up was addicted once that it'd be okay to slowly continue destroying himself. Maybe it was because Kyle didn't have any family to lose if he got in over his head.

Caleb doesn't know, but it scares the shit out of him.

Now he understands why his mother always got mad when he didn't eat dinner—it's barely a minute since Kyle finished most of what was on his plate and he's already pushing back his chair. The bathroom door closes and the faucet turns on. Caleb gets a niggling feeling in his stomach, like he should be more in control of this.

But it's Kyle's body, and not his own. He'd already poisoned himself, and that didn't make him Jesus. Caleb has this absurd twang of emotion, something like a mix between anger at Kyle, and sadness that his food he'd made had been wasted on the blonde.

At the table, Caleb closes his eyes and sighs. He tries his best to drown out the faint sounds of retching that the running water can't hide. It's another few minutes before he gets up to clean off the table.

He _wants_ to talk to Kyle, but he can't bring himself to do it. It's not hypocrisy, but it's something.

The tears that come aren't any surprise; he's been holding them back for weeks. A waterfall crashing past the Hoover Dam of his eyes. He's still sniffling as he drops his and Kyle's plates into the sink with more force than necessary.

Beneath the crystal veil of tears the remaining food swirls and blends into unintelligible colors. He chokes back a sob and looks at his hands clenching tightly onto the pea green countertop. He's getting too attached, and for what?

One of them could end up in the hospital.

See: being kept alive on a respirator.

Next: pulling the plug.

Also see: six feet under.

Caleb bites his lip when he hears the bathroom door open down the hall. He picks up a plate and places it under the stream of hot water. Not expecting the temperature, he yelps and drops it back into the sink, where it crashes and shatters. The silverware that had been balancing precariously on the rest of the dirty dishes cascades down, clattering loudly into the sink's basin.

He hears Kyle rush into the kitchen and within seconds the blonde is picking the jagged pieces of china out of Caleb's hands. Caleb doesn't notice the blood staining the shards until Kyle says softly, "Shit, baby, you're bleeding."

Swirls of red and white rapidly spiraling down the drain, twisting and turning into something akin to a macabre candy cane.

He escorts Caleb into the bathroom. It feels like Caleb's in a dream. Everything is blurry at the edges and he doesn't feel like he's walking. He's not sure if this is a panic attack or what, but Kyle's hand is gentle on his shoulder, the other one holding Caleb's injured hand out at arm's length.

The bitter scent of Lysol hangs in the stagnant air and makes Caleb dry heave. The reason why he freaked out in the first place floods his mind and he finds it hard to breathe, brown eyes wide as he struggles in Kyle's hold.

"Whoa, whoa, Red, what's wrong?" Kyle asks. He wrestles to keep his hold on the younger boy. Caleb's hand swats at him, misses his face by inches and connects with his collarbone instead, a surprisingly strong punch from someone as frail as Caleb. "Seriously, what is going on? Are you having a panic attack?"

_Deep breaths in, out._

"Caleb, answer me!"

_Don't pass out._

The slap comes out of nowhere. Kyle's palm connects with Caleb's cheek and Caleb's head jerks sideways. The skin is red, and when Caleb gently touches his fingers to it, it stings. He blinks owlishly a few times, squints and says, "Kyle?" like he's a newborn seeing things for the first time.

Kyle lets out a breath of relief and smiles weakly. He lets go of Caleb and the younger boy all but nearly collapses, knees buckling as he grabs onto the sink to steady himself. "Dude, I didn't know what the fuck was going on. I came in the kitchen and you had like, broken a dish or whatever and were just standing there. It kinda freaked me out, like, a lot."

Caleb looks down at the hand Kyle is still holding out. He's genuinely surprised to see the blood staining his fingertips and dripping down onto the white countertop. "Like rose petals on the snow," he murmurs.

Kyle cocks an eyebrow as he reaches into the cabinet above the sink for antiseptic and bandages. "What?" he asks. He sets the small medicine kit he'd rummaged out onto the corner of the counter, opening it.

"Just something someone said," Caleb replies absentmindedly as Kyle dabs hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball. The burn is barely noticeable as Kyle rubs it on his cut before wrapping it in a bandage.

"Flex," Kyle instructs. Caleb does as he's told and gently flexes. Kyle nods in approval as the bandage stays on Caleb's palm and he puts the kit up, sitting on the closed toilet lid when he's done. "Now talk."

Caleb pretends not to hear him. Kyle isn't stupid, though, and gently grabs Caleb's bicep and repeats "Talk to me," a burning intensity smoldering in his blue eyes. Caleb quickly looks away as if he's been burned.

His soul could be seared, but Kyle seems to have that kind of mind-bending power.

In the mirror Caleb's eyes are surrounded by darkened bags and his skin is sallow. He looks like he's never left the streets. "It was nothing." Even as he says it he doesn't believe it, and he knows Kyle doesn't either.

Like he's reading Caleb's mind Kyle replies, "Bullshit, Turman."

He's genuinely freaked out. Caleb can see it in the doe-like wide eyes Kyle is still sporting. Biting his lip, Caleb shakes his head. Now isn't the time to ask Kyle anything. It's too soon, and the last thing Caleb wants it for the other boy to get offended.

Kyle isn't backing down, though, so Caleb lies. He says, "I was just… I dropped a plate on accident and got cut without realizing it. I saw the blood on my hands and freaked out, I guess. It reminded me of—of…" He doesn't finish, just hangs his head.

The thing is it _doesn't_ remind him of needles or drugs. Blood doesn't bother him. Carnage doesn't bother him. The feelings he has towards Kyle's self-destruction are completely and utterly new and frightening. _That's_ what bothers him.

Before, Caleb had never cared about anyone or for anyone. He'd lived in his own bubble of his own self-destruction. Other people's problems? Petty. Their thoughts about his way of life? Useless and annoying. And now Kyle, this mysterious willowy blonde, had taken his life and slipped it upside down like one of those lava toys.

He hears Kyle get up off the toilet lid, go behind him and wrap his arms around Caleb's thin waist. Caleb feels the warm, comforting weight of Kyle's chin on his shoulder, and he turns his head just slightly, like a cat seeking attention. Kyle presses a tiny kiss to the corner of Caleb's mouth. "I understand," Kyle mutters.

_You'll never understand_, Caleb thinks at the feather-light brush of Kyle's lips against his, ignores the jolt of electricity running down his spine. _Not until you stop destroying yourself._


	5. This Isn't Lost, This Is In Love

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and no one. There really aren't any warnings for this chapter, to be honest. It's pretty tame. Language is about it, and there's not even much of that.

A/N: Terribly sorry for the wait. I've been super busy with school and my musical so I've had about zero time to write. So, reviews would be amazing ;)

* * *

Like the calm before the storm, or the eye of a hurricane, everything dies down for a bit. Caleb falls asleep next to Kyle every night, they both take turns doing things like cooking and cleaning and nothing is ever said about Kyle's problem.

But sometimes want tugs at Caleb's cerebellum, a far greater need than just sex. This reason, the one why he never yells at Kyle for throwing up, is because he never really got clean. Sure, it's nowhere near as bad as a year previous, but he still finds himself taking deep breaths every once in awhile and clenching onto surfaces when it spikes.

He _is_ clean, in a way, in the fact that he knows he'll never, ever touch another needle again in his life. The flashes of want are psychological, he's aware of this.

He prides himself on his self-control and Kyle's complete lack of syringes. He doesn't pride himself that he lied to Kyle when they first met. There's no urge to shoot up every second of every day, but that's not to say that he hasn't forgotten about it. Most of the addiction had left his bloodstream when he couldn't afford another fix.

Now he's happier, healthier, and doesn't have anything to take his mind off of his previous vice. Sometime he wishes that sex could be it, that all he'd have to do is get his rocks off to curb the urges, but it's never that easy. Kyle's more than willing, but Caleb isn't. Not really, anyway.

The like—not love, no way—that he has for Kyle is more of a bond that he's ever had to anyone in his life. Not his siblings, not his parents, not his former best friends. These were all minor speed bumps in his life, so to speak.

The way Caleb had fallen into Kyle's arms on a stroke of luck is more than a miracle. It's a Godsend, plain and simple. He'll always hold firmly to that belief.

He knows his story is almost Oprah-worthy, and sprinkle in his and Kyle's miraculous recoveries after the discovery of their mutual attraction to one another and it'll make national headlines. If it ever happens.

Everyone loves a sob story. A feel-good moment to pull them away from their own drab, colorless lives. They'll believe anything just for the hope that there's something more for everyone. That things like this _don't_ just happen in stories.

Really, they do. It's the author's job to suck a reader in. It all comes down to those too stupid to tell them apart.

The morning sun is a bright, cheerful yellow through the cream-color Venetian blinds in Kyle's room. It slants in bars over the light green of the bed comforter, just barely touches Caleb's face.

Slowly his eyes flicker open, pupils dilating and contracting at the intrusion of morning light. The bed is warm and comfortable, and Kyle's arm is slung around his midsection. Caleb feels safe here.

Kyle breathes softly in his sleep, nose just barely brushing the nape of Caleb's neck as he moves the slightest bit closer. A small smile spreads over Caleb's lips as he closes his eyes again, snuggling further into the cocoon of the sheets and Kyle's protective hold.

Moments like these make his life seem so "all-American apple pie" perfect, like he and Kyle are flawless and the epitome of good. This is one that he savors as Kyle begins to stir.

A soft kiss is brushed over his shoulder blade as Kyle murmurs in a sleep-raspy voice, "Morning, Cay."

Caleb smiles, says back, "Morning," and turns over. He laughs softly and reaches up a hand to smooth down Kyle's sleep-rumpled locks. Slowly he slumps back down into the sheets, sighing heavily.

"Don't want to get up," Kyle says more than asks, showing that he feels the same as Caleb. The covers are pulled slightly to the left as Kyle settles back down next to Caleb. "So what's up?"

Caleb huffs. "Nothing's 'up'."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely positive. Now are you gonna lay here next to me or give me the third degree?"

Kyle grins and slings an arm around Caleb's chest. "Dude, are you really asking me that?" Caleb's forehead scrunches up and Kyle continues with, "I like you. So of course I'll lay here next to you and shut up."

Something more is hidden in Kyle's words, a deeper meaning that Caleb can't fathom at the moment. Maybe it was the way Kyle said "like," or how he curled as close as possible to Caleb's body.

Maybe it was his blatant disregard for Caleb's scars, how he always has only nice words to say. How he cares for Caleb, not his past. Then Caleb shifts his hips just so and feels the sharp press of Kyle's hipbone against his and he's reminded.

The boy next to him is just as broken as he is, but he's as closeted about it as Caleb never was.

* * *

Parties, in Caleb's opinion, are boring and pointless.

Parties, in Kyle's opinion, are amazing and completely necessary.

Caleb doesn't necessarily agree, but it's not like he can argue, not while Kyle's busying himself around the apartment while he sits in the background. "Kyle," he says, knows his voice is whiny, "why do we have to do this? Can't I meet your friends in a normal way?"

Kyle shakes his head and straightens a floor vase for the third time, completely overlooking the semi-crooked skateboard deck propped up against the wall next to his television. Caleb rolls his eyes and smiles faintly. "No, you deserve a lavish, extravagant party."

"And you have the money for that?" Caleb can't help but retaliate. A dust rag is thrown half-heartedly at his head and Caleb ducks, avoiding it easily. Kyle mouths "fuck you" and disappears into the kitchen.

Caleb lounges on the couch, stretching out across the length of it, folding his arms behind his head. He stares up at the ceiling, contemplating, as he hears Kyle putting away dishes. "When is this party supposed to be?"

Kyle's voice is strained when he answers, and Caleb can picture the tall blonde stretching to put up a dish in the top cabinet. "Tomorrow night, I think. At least that's what I told Jonathan the other day."

"You already _told_ people? People that aren't _me_? You're fucking insane." Caleb feels like he should be mad, knows he probably should be because his state of mind as is fragile as a small glass figure at the moment. Deep down he knows Kyle's being nice, trying his hardest to make Caleb feel welcome and at home, and the redhead appreciates it.

There's a pause before Kyle says back, "You think this is a bad idea, don't you?" His voice is despondent, and immediately Caleb sits upright. "Ky, I didn't mean it like that—"

Caleb gets up off the couch and walks into the kitchen. Kyle is standing in front of the fridge, shoulders hunched just the slightest bit, and Caleb goes over to him, hooks his chin over Kyle's shoulder and gently grips Kyle's hips. "Look, I just think you should've told me before making plans. I love the idea, don't get me wrong." He presses a gentle kiss to Kyle's clothed shoulder.

A sigh works its way through Kyle's chest. "Sorry, Cay. I know all this adjusting is probably harder on you than I can imagine."

Caleb laughs. "That's why I have you." He lets go of Kyle and steps back. "So is it just your friends coming, or will it become one of those 'I'll invite someone I know too' deals?"

"With my friends, who knows," Kyle replies. "At least we can count of Jonathan being the sensible sober one. I've never seen the kid drink a drop in all the years I've known him. Kent on the other hand…" Kyle sighs and shakes his head in mock-pity. "He'll be bringing the beer and the pong."

"I used to be really good at that," Caleb supplies nonchalantly, leaning on one elbow on the cool green slate of the counter. He sees light flicker across Kyle's irises and the blonde is immediately saying back, "I'll be the judge of that."

Caleb holds out a hand. "Winner receives oral sex?"

Kyle takes Caleb's hand and flashes a diabolical grin. "You're on, Red."

"Challenge received and matched, Blondie."

* * *

By the time Caleb wakes up the next morning the sun is already high in the sky and Kyle's side of the bed has long grown cold. For a few moments Caleb lies there, not wanting to move or leave the warmth of the sheets. He closes his eyes and groans lightly, finally pushing the comforter up and off, looking on the ground for his boxers.

Finding them, he dresses and pads off to the bathroom to shower. He catches a tiny glimpse of himself in the mirrored bathroom cabinets but quickly looks away. He hasn't gained back all the weight he's lost over the past two years yet, and no matter how many times Kyle will tell him _I think you look gorgeous_ Caleb won't ever believe him.

Case in point: Kyle's own skinny body.

The fact that that could be Caleb right now—too-skinny coupled with too-high and too-in denial about everything in his life is almost too surreal to comprehend. He remembers what a bitch withdrawal was, how the detox was the most painful thing he'd ever experienced in his life.

Intervention is what Kyle needs, and Caleb knows this, but he'd be a hypocrite to bring it up this soon into their relationship or whatever this _thing_ could be called. Kyle's hair isn't falling out, his teeth are as white as ever, and the stamina he has in bed is fucking ridiculous.

In short, Kyle is as healthy as anyone Caleb has ever met. How he does it is anyone's guess.

The shower nozzle is slippery and cold, and when Caleb pulls his hand away the skin is covered in crystal-like droplets of water, evidence that it hadn't been too long since Kyle had gotten up and showered.

Draped over the towel rack is one of Kyle's plaid shirts, that red-and-white one he wears all the time, along with a yellow Post-It stuck to the pocket on the left breast that says For my favorite person ;) and Jesus, Caleb feels like he's in some corny chick-flick. It's obvious that this is Kyle's favorite piece of outerwear because Caleb has seen him don it even with those damned camo cargo pants.

Caleb's beginning to acquire a lot of Kyle's old clothes and he doesn't deny that feels bad, that he feels like a mooch, but Kyle's adamant about it and he's not the kind of guy to take no, in any shape or form, as an answer. Even though he'd sent Caleb out to buy a few shirts, Kyle's still always lending his out.

(_"Mi casa es tu casa_ and whatever the hell else," Kyle had said, pulling a shirt out of the top drawer of his vanity. "Have whatever you like until we can get new clothes for your pretty body.")

Caleb still picks up the shirt after his shower's done and relishes in the last traces of Kyle's cologne.

* * *

When Caleb walks into the kitchen Kyle turns to look at him, and almost immediately all tiredness leaves his face as his eyes sweep over his plaid shirt buttoned haphazardly over Caleb's own white V-neck. A wide grin breaks out onto his face and Caleb finds himself smiling too like it's a contagious disease.

"You thought I would complain," Caleb says before Kyle can open his mouth. He looks down and fingers the material gently. He didn't know why, but he knows he would've complained, somehow, if it had been anyone but Kyle. That situation seems to come up quite frequently.

Kyle half-nods, a sort of gesture that shows he had been teetering precariously on the brink of anticipation. He reaches up, hooks his arms around Caleb's shoulders and steps closer. "I appreciate what you've done for me," Caleb says, resting his forehead against Kyle's. He closes his eyes. "I'm glad someone cared."

"Of course," Kyle succinctly replies. He doesn't say anything else. This close there's no personal space, no boundaries. The two of them, though, make invisible boundaries, their closeness shoved aside as Caleb swallows the lump in his throat. He's not going to cry just because he's _grateful_.

Caleb pulls away and blinks rapidly to push back the wetness that had accumulated. No matter how heartfelt any conversation they had was, they're both still guys and can still make fun of each other when one of them starts crying. And besides, they weren't _dating_, Caleb's pretty sure. It wasn't official, and Kyle hadn't said anything stupid, and they most definitely hadn't said _I love you_ yet.

Why Caleb tacked that _yet_ onto the end of that, he didn't know.

"What time is it?" Caleb asks in lieu of general conversation as he leans against the counter.

"Time for you to tell me what you want to eat at this party," Kyle replies with a grin, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the mug sitting on the counter, bringing it to his lips. "You still haven't told me."

Caleb rolls his eyes. "That's because we don't—"

Kyle shushes him by placing his index finger to Caleb's lips, the pad of his finger tracing the Cupid's bow and the full, pouty lower lip. "Unless that sentence is going to end with some complaint about my lack of food, don't bother."

There's no arguing with Kyle, Caleb knows this, so he sighs in defeat and rests against the counter. "Alright, fine, I don't care. Get whatever you want. It doesn't bother me. Just make sure there's lots of beer."

Kyle laughs and swallows down the remaining dregs of his coffee, placing the mug in the sink. "Of course there will be. Look who you're talking to." He crosses the kitchen, stopping in front of the refrigerator, running a hand through his hair and chewing on his lower lip in concentration.

He picks up a few menus and flips through them before sticking them back on the fridge door. "You'll get to meet my step brother tonight, too. He's been dying to meet you."

Caleb raises an eyebrow. "Really now?"

Kyle nods, crossing his arms over his chest. "Mhm. Everyone else, too. You'll get to see just how much of a big deal my parties are." He turns to face Caleb and winks, laughing at the redhead's blush. "I also DJ for these things. I'm pretty fucking good at it, if I do say so myself."

"Because this is just _that_ important," Caleb says. He watches Kyle for a few minutes, admiring the blonde as he goes through menu after menu. They stay silent during this time, Caleb hopping up on the counter and childishly swinging his legs as he looked at the ceiling.

"Ah, here we go," Kyle finally says, shattering the silence.

"You're ordering take-out instead of buying food?" Caleb asks incredulously as Kyle picks up his BlackBerry. "Call me old-fashioned but…"

Kyle snorts, grabbing another menu off the side of his fridge, magnet miraculously falling back into place. "Me, cook? You're crazy," he says as he thumbs through the pages, forehead creased in concentration.

"You did it the other night." _And threw it up_.

"For you and me, not for fifteen or more people," Kyle replies, settling on a Thai restaurant's menu. "You like Asian food, right?

Caleb nods. "Yeah, but everyone else—"

"Doesn't matter." Kyle cuts him off and dials the number. "It's whatever you want, sweetheart."

Caleb glares at Kyle. "I'm not—" He stops himself just in time, before he says _I'm not worth it_. If Kyle wants to throw a party, let him. It wasn't Caleb's place to say no. And who knows; maybe meeting more people would break him out of his shell.

Subconsciously he tugs the sleeves of the plaid shirt he'd borrowed from Kyle further down his arms, concealing the faint pinkish track marks marring the soft pale skin.

He's not embarrassed or ashamed. Shy, maybe. Maybe first impressions are everything, and the one he had with Jonathan, where he was skinny and starved and ravenous, wasn't probably the best one.

Tonight he doesn't want to screw it up with everyone else. He wants Kyle's friends to see he can be more than just a street urchin, see that yeah, he can clean up just as well as the next guy. He wants to be as perfect as possible.

Kyle must sense Caleb's inner turmoil because he protectively wraps the younger man in his arms, gently nudging Caleb's legs apart so he can get closer. "Just focus on getting excited," he says, words muffled against Caleb's shoulder. "You don't have to impress anyone. Or prove a point," he adds when he feels Caleb's shoulders tense up.

Caleb sighs but doesn't say anything back. He keeps the silence until Kyle lets go and steps back. Caleb avoids the quizzical look in the blonde's eyes and says, with a strained lightness, "Dude, I'll be totally fine. I'm just not used to this stuff." He pastes on a forced smile that seems to appease Kyle.

Really, he's kind of excited, but not in a bubbly way. He'd love to meet Kyle's friends, get more acquainted with people from around here since for so long he was cut off from society.

Kyle doesn't seem to notice any of Caleb's apprehension, even though the redhead feels like the air's thick enough with it to cut it with a knife. He leans back on his hands, watching Kyle as he moves around the kitchen. The kid is almost like poetry in motion, Caleb thinks, with his slender build and long limbs. Like some sort of rare, exotic animal.

A smile starts to form on Caleb's face and he lets it. He's not often the center of attention. He watches Kyle, sees the other boy's shirt slide up slightly and notices how his pants hang ever so slightly off his hips, how there's shadows where there shouldn't be shadows.

He remembers just how and why Kyle is so slender.

And that smile is gone.


	6. I Said I'd Fight Back

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and no one. FTSK are the properties of themselves. **Warnings are:** Swearing, oral sex, allusions to sex, allusions to rape.

* * *

Apparently, Kyle's version of "DJing" is setting up an iPod dock in one corner of his apartment. Caleb knows better than to laugh at him, so he goes along with it, shuffling through Kyle's songs as the blonde plugs his iHome into an open outlet.

Caleb laughs suddenly, startling Kyle. "Dude, you have Madonna on here? Seriously? You've got, like, A Day To Remember, Four Year Strong, and then _her_?"

Kyle snatches his iPod out of Caleb's hands. "Shut up. You just have no respect for the classics."

"I do too. Just… she's fucking scary, man."

With a huff, Kyle rolls his eyes and pretends to be mad, but Caleb can see a smile fighting to take place on the blonde's lips. He lets Kyle set up in peace after that, humming softly to himself as he lounges on the couch.

Pretty soon Kyle's nudging at him, and Caleb opens his eyes blearily, unaware that he'd just fallen asleep. Kyle is standing above him, a dark silhouette against the overhead lighting. Caleb blinks a few times and yawns, mouth opening cavernously. "Wha' time s'it?" he slurs, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hands.

"About four or so."

Caleb sits up and stretches, popping his back. He winces at the sensation and sits back against the couch, patting the spot next to him. Kyle takes the invitation and snuggles up, sighing. "What time is everyone coming over?"

Kyle squints as he thinks. "I might've told Marc five or something. I can't remember now." Caleb takes this time to notice everything Kyle's done during his nap.

The room is noticeably cleaner, with the skateboards propped vertically against the far wall, coffee table and end table dusted. There's a few takeout menus scattered on the countertop in the kitchen, but Caleb doesn't so much care as he wonders why Kyle would even bother ordering actual food for something that Caleb knows is going to end up like a frat party.

Next to him Kyle's humming to himself, tapping out drumbeats on the tops of his shorts, eyes closed and blonde hair scattered about his face. Caleb cracks a small smile and wiggles out from under Kyle's arm.

Kyle opens one eye. "Where are you going?" he asks lazily.

Caleb shrugs, still smiling. "Shower. And no, you can't come with me."

"Rats."

* * *

Marc and Kent are the first ones to arrive, followed closely by Jonathan and Austin, both of whom had obviously just got off of work. Caleb learns that Marc is the one who's Kyle's step brother (which really explains their mutual love for _Step Brothers_) and that Kent thinks—jokingly, Caleb sort of hopes because he so can't see this being true in any way—that Jonathan is secretly gay and banging Travis Clark.

Caleb _so_ wouldn't blame him. Travis is across the room, ten times hotter with the beer bottle in his hand, oblivious to the conversation that's turning dangerously close to being about his dick.

Jonathan punches Austin's arm when Austin butts in to say, "Does the carp—"

"Don't be a jerk," Jonathan huffs. Caleb finds the older man's aversion to cussing and drinking more or less completely adorable. Give Caleb enough cocktails, or Heinekens in this case, and he'll probably end up draped over Jonathan, cooing like some annoying, overbearing aunt. "I don't ever plan on seeing Travis naked."

"I think he'd be insulted," Kent replies with a wink, bringing his cup to his lips. "I just might have to go tell him that you don't like redheads."

Kyle drapes an arm across Caleb's shoulders. "Aw, don't insult the gingers. They're a dying breed." Caleb scoffs and jokingly pushes Kyle's arm off of him, saying, "Fuck you. At least I'm _natural_. My carpet makes my drapes."

A collective whistle makes Caleb smirk smugly. "You're vulgar," Kyle says and pulls Caleb in for a kiss. "And I find that incredibly sexy." Caleb holds out his cup while Kyle's tongue snakes its way into his mouth.

"Yech, enough with the bedroom eyes," Austin says. "I can handle hearing about it, but not seeing it firsthand." He pointedly turns his back on them to talk to Jonathan.

Kyle pulls away and rests his forehead against Caleb's, saying, "I bet five bucks Austin and Jonathan get it on tonight. What do you say?"

"I say"—Caleb pauses to finish his cup—"that we've still got that whole beer pong bet going on. And I think that our oral sex is more important than Austin and Jonathan because at least I know _we're_ getting some tonight one way or another."

Kyle looks over his shoulder at the aforementioned who are slowly walking toward a secluded corner. "I don't know… Austin's got some serious moves, dude. Jonathan's a sucker enough to fall for the old Bello charm."

Caleb rolls his eyes and tugs on Kyle's arm. "Come on, Ky. I'm looking forward to seriously kicking your ass at beer pong." He grabs the other boy's hand and tugs him toward the kitchen counter, where Travis is setting down another red Solo cup full of beer.

Memories of Caleb holding the same red cup have long ceased to bother him; right now all he's got on his mind is beating Kyle—and possibly somehow turning the one-sided blowjob into a 69.

"Step aside, amateurs," Caleb proclaims, shouldering his way past Rian and Danny. He beckons to Nate, who's standing outside the growing circle. "Give me a ball."

Travis, who's standing beside him, snickers. "Just one?" Caleb elbows him sharply in the side when Nate hands him a ping pong ball. "You won't be snickering when I pwn your ass at this, Clark." Caleb sets down the cup he's currently holding.

"That's never gonna happen," Travis says with a shake of his head. Caleb really likes the way Travis's orange hair falls almost magically back into place, like it was painted that way. He bounces the ball experimentally a few times on the counter.

"You'll eat your words by the end of the night," Caleb retorts. He aims and shoots the ball with practiced ease, pumping his fist into the air when it makes a soft plop into a plastic cup in the far back row. He resists the urge to poke his tongue out at Travis as the other redhead grabs the cup with a heady sigh and starts to down it.

Kyle makes his way up front, hip-checking Caleb in the process. Beer sloshes down the front of Caleb's shirt from the cup he'd been possessing before the game started, and the redhead can't bring himself to be mad. Instead he turns to the blonde and says, "You'll be fucking licking this off by the end of the night."

"Ooh, scary," Kyle says and waggles his fingers, grinning brightly. He retrieves the ball and rolls it in his palms. "Just you wait, Turman. You'll see just how much of an expert I really am."

Kyle misjudges the distance and misses by a fraction, but Caleb knows he did it on purpose. Sidling up next to the blonde after he's gotten the ball retrieved thanks to Ziggy, Caleb presses his lips to Kyle's neck to whisper, "You can't lose on purpose. That's called cheating, which equals no blowjob for you, unfortunately." He roughly nips at the skin underneath Kyle's earlobe and makes Kyle gasp, fingers almost simultaneously tightening and loosening on the ping pong ball in his grasp.

"Okay, okay," Kyle says, gulping. He aims again, and Caleb crosses his arms over his torso with a smirk. Another shoot and another miss. Caleb knows he's got Kyle nervous, can tell by Kyle's shaky movements and uncoordinated gaze, and, well, he can't have _that_.

"Come on," Caleb whispers into Kyle's ear, "just think of me on my knees, just for you, with your cock in my mouth." Surreptitiously he reaches his hand down, palms Kyle's half-hard cock through his jeans. Kyle moans through his teeth and briefly closes his eyes. "Just focus."

Kyle groans in frustration and drops the ping pong ball onto the ground. He grabs Caleb's arm and drags him through the group of people, ignoring the catcalls and whistles. They pass Jonathan and Austin on the way into Kyle's room and Caleb doesn't miss how Austin has Jonathan pressed against the wall, one hand down the older man's pants, but now's not the time for old bets.

"You fucker," Kyle hisses once the door to the bedroom's shut and he's pinning Caleb against it. He roughly attacks Caleb's mouth, teeth nipping and biting and tongue battling against Caleb's. He strips the redhead of his shirt at almost the same time he yanks off his own.

"Bed," Caleb says when they part for a breath. "I wanna suck you off when you suck me off." Kyle mutters something akin to agreement and then they're all but collapsing onto the bed, the scramble to lose jeans and shoes and socks quick and frantic.

Caleb, never one to waste time in a situation like this, positions Kyle and then lays down opposite. He moans when Kyle takes his cock into his mouth, and Caleb braces one hand on Kyle's thigh as he leans in, licking the tip of Kyle's cock before wrapping his mouth around the head and sliding down. He pulls back, licks at the slit and wraps his fist around Kyle's shaft, laving his tongue along the length of his cock.

Kyle's hipbones are sharp and prominent, and under Caleb's palm his thighs are just that too-thin side of sinewy, but Caleb doesn't think anything of it, not with the alcohol running through his veins and Kyle's mouth wrapped around his dick. Caleb moves his hand up, grips fingers onto the paper-thin stretch of skin over the bone, nails digging reddish crescent moons.

It doesn't last long—it can't, really, not with an apartment full of people that more or less know what they're doing, just not to the extent—and Kyle is, well, fucking _good_ at whatever he does. Soon Caleb finds himself jerking and writhing, moaning around Kyle's cock as he comes.

Flipping Kyle onto his back, Caleb kneels between his legs, wrapping a hand around the base of Kyle's cock, sucking down as far as he can go. Kyle groans and clenches onto Caleb's hair, arching up off the bed. He voices no warning when he comes other than a strangled shout of Caleb's name.

Doing his best to swallow, Caleb grabs Kyle and pulls him in for a fierce kiss. "Worth it?" Caleb asks when they part, a lopsided grin on his face and hair a complete wreck.

Kyle laughs and tries his best to smooth down Caleb's hair. "Dude, you're so fucking wasted."

"Tipsy. There's a difference."

"Maybe in your world," Kyle says good-naturedly. "But yes, it was worth it."

Caleb grabs the back of Kyle's head, pulling him closer so they can kiss, slow and languid. Kyle's the first to break away to put his clothes back on, and while they're both getting dressed Caleb says, "I totally saw Austin giving Jonathan a handjob in the hallway, by the way."

"Hmm," Kyle says as he slides his jeans back on. "That means you owe me five bucks." He's not the least bit surprised, and neither is Caleb, but all the redhead says is, "I think we should hurry up and see if we can catch them in the act."

Kyle laughs and pulls the door open. "Let's go, then. Knowing Jonathan, Austin's probably still working at getting him off." Both he and Caleb step out into the hall where there's no sign of Austin or Jonathan.

"Damn," Caleb says as he walks back out into the living room. "I was hoping I could take a picture and use it as blackmail." He grabs a cup of beer from the kitchen, where a game of beer pong is still going. Kyle opts not to grab anything to drink and follows Caleb until they meet Marc and Kent in a corner of the living room.

"Have you seen Austin and Jonathan?" Caleb asks. He takes a sip from his cup and leans back against Kyle, humming in content. He feels stupidly happy right now, and it could be the alcohol buzzing its way through his system, could be the fact that he just got off, but he'd like to believe it's because he's pressed against Kyle and he feels nothing but serenity.

Marc raises an eyebrow. "I haven't seen him since Austin dragged him off… somewhere."

"Probably fucking in the bathroom," Kyle supplies, resting his hand on Caleb's hip. "He's an exhibitionist that way."

"Wait a minute," Kent says. "Are you telling me that Austin is probably—has probably—fucked _Jonathan Cook_?" Disbelief is almost tangible in his voice.

"I saw Austin jerking him off," Caleb replies, shrugging. "So who knows what they did after." The beer he has drunk is making him less self-conscious, and he finds himself loosening up. After a particularly hilarious (albeit fairly fake) story, Caleb's punctuating his point with a flick of his wrist, beer almost sloshing over the sides of his cup, making Marc and Kent laugh and Kyle roll his eyes good-naturedly.

From the corner of his eye Caleb sees someone saunter past. He looks out of curiosity and does a double-take, choking slightly on his next sip. Not Jack Barakat. No way. He has to be seeing things because Jack being here _should not be happening_.

Caleb stops mid-sentence and doesn't finish, face paling. Kyle raises an eyebrow and rests a hand on Caleb's arm. "What's wrong?" he asks, looking where Caleb's eyes were still glued. Jack was gone, moved on to some other side of the apartment.

Swallowing, Caleb manages to shake his head, brushing Kyle's hand off. "It was… it was no one." He doesn't want to talk about Jack, not when Kent and Marc are here. He hasn't told Kyle the actual truth about his past; whenever he tries to bring it up he can't finish it, or he'll change the subject.

Kyle pulls Caleb off to the side, in a secluded corner, and rests his fingertips on Caleb's jaw. His eyes are a bright, understanding blue and his touch is gentle. Caleb closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It's only Kyle. He can tell Kyle anything. When Caleb opens his eyes he starts.

"I never told you all of it." He twiddles his thumbs, not being able to bring himself to look Kyle in the eyes. Caleb feels a sort of shame that's completely unrelated, and he knows none of this is his fault, but maybe this is the abused spouse complex. Where he's at fault, just him, and Jack is innocent.

"What is it?" Kyle asks gently.

Caleb takes a deep breath. "Jack got me into drugs, you know." Kyle nods and doesn't say anything. "And he—he tried to rape me. O-once. He knew I'd blow him when I was high, and I guess he got a little… a little greedy. I was completely sober at the time."

The onslaught of tears is almost inevitable—and makes him feel like a girl—but Caleb manages to hold them back. Kyle is silent, which makes Caleb almost afraid to look at him. Afraid that he'll see disgust in the blonde's blue eyes, that he'll push Caleb away without a second thought because Caleb's _that_ broken.

"Baby." Kyle's voice is gentle, soothing. "He'll never hurt you again, okay?" He pulls Caleb in close, wrapping his arms around the younger boy as he whispers consoling words into Caleb's ear. "I'll never let him."

Caleb can only nod, swallowing thickly to push back the tears. He presses his face into the shoulder of Kyle's shirt and inhales deeply, relaxing at the familiar scent of cologne and just _Kyle_.

"I'll be fine," Caleb says as he pulls away. "That was awhile back. Forget about the old Caleb. Let's go see if we can ambush Austin and Jonathan."

Kyle laughs and gently tucks a lock of hair behind Caleb's ear. "Alright, then. Let's go." They excuse themselves from the group—Marc and Kent are barely even paying attention, anyway, since Pat Brown had come and joined their circle—and headed for the bathroom.

"D'you think they're in there?" Caleb asks, stopping a few feet from the closed door. "'Cause it'd be kinda awkward if we walked in on someone taking a shit or something." He takes a couple steps forward and presses his ear against the dark grain of the wood.

At first there's nothing, but then Caleb hears a low groan, followed by a familiar voice saying, "Oh fuck, _Jonathan_." Caleb claps a hand over his mouth and looks at Kyle. He's sure they're both wearing the same shocked expression—Caleb's maybe a little less, since he's _this close_ to laughing.

Behind the door there's the clink of a belt hitting the tile, followed by dull thuds as someone—Caleb wants to assume it's Jonathan—gets to his knees. He backs away from the door and Kyle breathes out, "Wow. I just… wow."

Caleb nods.

"I never thought I'd see the day when it's Jonathan on his knees."

Caleb can't say anything—he hasn't known Jonathan for as long as Kyle has, but he'll take the blonde's words as the truth. They walk back into the heart of the party. Kyle catches Kent's eye from across the room, gives an almost imperceptible nod and sees the younger boy's eyes widen before he's turning to fervently talk to Marc.

Kyle slings an arm around Caleb's shoulder, pulling him close. They weave their way through sweaty, grinding bodies and end up somewhere in the back, by the window. Caleb sighs and closes his eyes, thoughts still lingering on Jack.

Kyle notices Caleb's troubled expression and pulls him close. "Don't worry about it. I'm here, aright? I'm here for you now." He places a tender kiss on Caleb's temple, hand gently tugging and tousling Caleb's red hair.

They don't say anything after that, and Caleb knows they don't need to.

* * *

After two in the morning the party starts to wind down—rather, Caleb gets fed up as Kyle gets steadily drunker, and he's sorry, but spin the bottle is for middle school parties, not for adults.

It's bad enough that once Caleb boots out the last straggler—and, shocker there, it's Alex, the boozehound—he has to help Kyle to the bedroom, strip him of his clothing, which is _not_ fun unless it involves something else, and then somehow manage to get both of them to sleep.

It's tiring, and Caleb swears up and down he's never doing it again. At least, he does until Kyle, a mix of drunk and groggy, slings an arm around his waist and slurs, "You're so good t'me, Cay. Thanks."

Caleb smiles.


	7. I Take What I Get And I Throw It Away

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing and no one. This is going to be the last time I do disclaimers at the beginning of chapters. I think you all get the gist of it by now. Sorry the wait was so long and this chapter is so short; it'll get better soon, I promise! I have great things planned for this story, and after we get past the initial Caleb-can't-tell-Kyle-that-he-knows thing, we'll delve more into Caleb's dark past.

* * *

They both possess massive hangovers the next morning, which renders them both reluctant to leave their bed. Kyle moans in pain when he cracks open his eyes and a ray of sunlight shines onto his face. He burrows further under the covers, hair a mix of sex and I-just-touched-an-electrical-socket. Caleb doesn't want to laugh.

"We need coffee," Caleb says, voice cracking and sleep-raspy. He props himself up on the pillows with his elbows, wincing when his head throbs especially painfully.

Kyle makes a noise under the sheets. "No fucking way. I would've never thought of that."

Caleb glares at the lump that's Kyle. "So that kinda means that we need to get up. So get up." He nudges Kyle's bare back with his knee. The blonde groans and remains motionless until Caleb nudges him again, harder this time and with a lot more bone.

"Fine. I'm up. Now let's go tackle this morning." He yawns, mouth opening wide, and shakes his head, shaggy blonde locks somehow remaining in place. Caleb crookedly smiles, reaching over to grasp Kyle's arm. "Let's shower first."

The look in Caleb's eyes is one-part mischief, one-part lust. His brown eyes are wide and faux-innocent and as he speaks he rubs his thumb over Kyle's arm. Kyle replies, "Hell yes," and tugs him up.

* * *

Kyle's apartment is slightly less of a mess than Caleb thought it'd be. Sure, there are the usual empty beer bottles and greasy pizza boxes despite the Thai food ordered, but one thing about Kyle's friends is that they're apparently pretty tidy. It only takes one big black garbage bag to get all the stuff up off the floor, beer-sodden ping pong ball and plastic cups included.

Kyle picks up a take-out carton off the sticky counter and sniffs it disdainfully, saying, "They wasted food we could've been eating today." He chucks the carton into the trash bag, pauses and contemplates before throwing the others away too for safety's sake.

Caleb shrugs and half-smiles as he ties up the bag. "It could've been worse. There could've been puking and a hell of a lot more debauchery going on."

"I don't know…" Kyle replies. "I heard that Nate and Pat were pretty heavily making out in a corner at one point. And I'm pretty sure that Zack was doing more than just 'being there' for Rian." He air-quoted this as he said it. "And who knows exactly what happened with Austin and Jonathan."

"Fucked." Caleb nods, like he knows this. "They totally did it."

Kyle laughs. "Maybe."

"We should call them. See if Jonathan is bowing down to a different god this morning, presumably one with the word porcelain in it," Caleb says as he ties the bag shut.

Kyle takes it from him and sets it by the trashcan, smiling. "You're all sorts of awful, Turman."

When the laughter is quieted and Kyle goes to load the shitty dishwasher that came with the apartment, Caleb thinks back to last night, remembers bits and pieces through the alcohol-induced haze. He remembers Kyle drinking about as much as, if not more than, him, but he doesn't remember Kyle eating anything.

The only thing that sticks out in his mind's eye about their rushed 69 is the way Kyle's body looked—almost grotesquely skinny, if he had to add an adverb. He can barely remember that holding onto Kyle's hipbones had been like grabbing an especially sharp piece of rock off the ground.

He still can't bring himself to say anything, though, and Kyle does eat, Caleb knows this. He cooks for the blonde, and vice versa. Kyle's obviously throwing it up, though. Caleb's biggest issue would have to be that. Kyle is scarily good at hiding it, which unnerves Caleb further. He can never smell bile on Kyle's breath, the bathroom always smells clean, and somehow Kyle's skin and hair are healthier than ever.

There have been numerous times Caleb's opened his mouth to bring it up, but every time something has stopped him. Whether it's guilt, or hypocrisy, it's always nagging at the back of Caleb's mind. He can word it in a way that would make Kyle understand, Caleb's good at it, but he just… _can't._

The time would come. Hopefully.

* * *

"I got invited to another party tonight," Kyle says over a lunch of Ramen noodles that Caleb had thrown together because neither of them felt like calling out or actually cooking. Caleb swallows his forkful of noodles and says, "By whom?"

"I think Martin's throwing it." Kyle shrugs. "Either way, I don't know if they expect me to DJ or what. Knowing Martin, he probably expects me to be their stripper." He raises his eyebrows suggestively, smirking.

Caleb chuckles and shakes his head. "I thought that you were my stripper."

Kyle's smirk evolves into a full-blown grin. "Of course I am, Cay-baby."

There's the clink of silverware before Kyle covers Caleb's hand with his own. No words are said, but when Caleb looks up to meet Kyle's intense gaze, all the words are hidden in those impossibly blue irises. A smile spreads on Caleb's face and he turns his palm over, entwining his fingers with Kyle's.

"What's up?" Kyle asks after a few seconds, breaking Caleb out of his thoughts. "I was just expecting cartoon love hearts to float out of your eyes, Turman. I know I'm a hot piece but _really_, contain yourself, you ginger freak."

Caleb rolls his eyes but replies, "Just was thinking about how lucky I am to have you. But since you're going to talk like that, I just might rescind those thoughts."

"How petty of you."

A playful punch is directed in the direction of Kyle's skinny arm. "Fucker."

* * *

Kyle leaves sometime after five, Caleb isn't sure, and suddenly the apartment is strangely silent. The echoes of Kyle's parting words seem to reverberate from the ceilings, the walls, and for a moment Caleb panics. He hasn't been truly alone since he moved in with Kyle, and having this solitude is all too familiar for him.

Caleb takes a deep breath and sits on the couch, pulling a pillow close to his side. "He'll be back around midnight. It's fine. Stop freaking out," he tells himself, closing his eyes.

He turns the TV on, if only for a little background noise, and settles back, flipping the remote in his hands. It's nice to be alone once in awhile, even Caleb knows that, and after his initial freak-out he relaxes, getting comfortable on the couch and only half-watching _My Life on the D-List_.

Caleb dozes off, Kathy Griffin's grating voice haunting his dreams, and is only awaked by the sound of the door to the apartment slamming. He jolts up, still groggy, and shakes his head, peering over the back of the couch. He barely catches a glimpse of Kyle before the blonde is darting into the bathroom, slamming the door closed.

Scrambling up, Caleb trips over the blanket that was covering him and has a few seconds to right himself before darting off towards the bathroom. He tries the knob, frustrated when he finds it locked, and knocks on the door instead, inquiring, "You okay, Kyle?" in a soft voice.

There's no answer except the sound of running water. Caleb's heart twists, because a locked door and running water can only mean that's Kyle's _doing it_ and Caleb being right there only shatters the little bubble he'd built up where Kyle didn't have a problem and this didn't go on behind his back.

"Don't do this," Caleb says before he can stop himself.

The tap shuts off, and a few seconds later the latch clicks. "I'm not doing anything," Kyle says in a small, defeated voice. When Caleb pushes open the door and steps onto the tile, he sees Kyle sitting on the floor, back against the wall, looking sad and lost.

"What happened?" Caleb asks softly, kneeling next to him.

Kyle shakes his head and doesn't answer at first. He fixes his gaze on the white porcelain bowl of the toilet, flinching slightly when Caleb's hand touches his knee. "Kyle." Caleb says his name slowly but forcefully. "What happened?"

Clenching his eyes shut, Kyle replies, "Nothing."

"'Nothing' doesn't freak out like you're doing."

Silence. Caleb sighs. "Seriously, dude, what the hell is going on?"

Kyle doesn't speak for a long time, and when he does, his voice sounds weak and tired. "I'm overreacting to this," he says. "It's stupid, and I know you don't want to hear me whine…"

"Stop." Caleb gently takes a hold of Kyle's chin, directing his stare up and away from the wall. The unshed tears make Caleb's throat tighten. "Baby, listen to me. I'm always here if you need to whine. We've both got our issues."

"You issues were solved before I even took you in."

"And you think I don't have problems now?" Caleb feels a surge of anger swell. "Just because I got clean doesn't mean I can't relapse someday. I never did rehab, I never saw anyone about it. I kicked the habit because I had no money, no dealer. It was drugs or life, and I had enough lucidity to choose life over a brief high."

He releases Kyle's chin and stands up, teeth clenched. "I can't help you if you don't want help," he snaps. "So are you gonna tell me what's wrong or not?"

Kyle laughs weakly and without humor. "I never knew you were so pushy, Turman," he replies, folding his legs Indian-style. He picks at a loose thread on his jeans when he says, "Someone made a remark about my weight."

Caleb raises an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest. "You freaked over _that_?"

He knew he was being harsh, knows Kyle has a disorder that he won't tell anyone about, but _really_? Caleb's seen Kyle naked, the only time he really lets his guard down, and he can practically play the xylophone on Kyle's exposed ribs. There's no way Kyle doesn't realize how skinny he is.

A hurt look crosses over Kyle's face and he opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Instantly the anger ebbs away like the tide and Caleb feels like such a prick for being so insensitive. Kyle stands up on unsteady legs, wobbling like a newborn colt, and stands before Caleb, fists clenched and mouth set into a furious line.

"_How_ can you be like this?" he asks. "I thought I meant more to you than that."

"Kyle, if you're so bent out of shape over a remark about how much you weigh maybe you should get help or, like, talk to me about it sometime."

"I don't need your fucking help," Kyle snarls, angrier than the redhead's ever seen him. "I do _not_ have a problem."

Caleb takes a step back and narrows his eyes. "What did they say? You were too fat? Too skinny?"

"None of your business." Caleb can see Kyle's resolve slipping, see his fists slowly unclench and uncertainty flood his eyes. Knowing he's almost won, Caleb adds, "I bet they were joking, weren't they? They made a joke and you took it the wrong way."

A tear slides down Kyle's cheek. "He asked if I was going to get any fatter. I—it hurt."

Caleb sighs and wraps Kyle up in a hug, feeling him shake against his body, tears soaking the shoulder of his shirt as Kyle cries silently. "He was just joking," Caleb says, rubbing Kyle's back soothingly. "That's all it was. You're the farthest thing from fat, Kyle."

Kyle sniffles, fingers dug deep into the fabric of Caleb's shirt, and if the garment makes it out of this sob session in tact Caleb's going to be surprised. Now is the perfect time to mention something to Kyle, say he's known since he first got here, but he _can't_. He's not placating himself by saying he's trying to keep some illusion alive where everything's alright, because he knows that both he and Kyle possess massive amounts of skeletons, but he knows firsthand how difficult it is to tell an addict, if Kyle can be called that, that they have a problem.

He may be a coward, but Kyle is a breakable porcelain doll, and right now he's all Caleb's got.


	8. Broken Pieces, Break Into Me

What's this? Another update that didn't take me months to write? I'm kinda shocked. This foreward is here because this chapter gets pretty graphic. I hadn't expected this scene to pop up yet, but it did, so I apologize for lack of warning. Contents are not-too-graphic rape. Apparently I like to focus on the emotional side of these things rather than the physical.

* * *

Something must have broken deep inside Kyle, because after his confession to Caleb in the bathroom he doesn't even show up for meals anymore. He'll come to the table in the morning for his coffee, but that's starting to be the only time the blonde occupies his seat.

Caleb's inwardly worried and outwardly cautious.

When it's been four days since Caleb's seen Kyle swallow anything that isn't coffee, he calls up Austin. While the phone rings Caleb paces the living room, thankful that Kyle's off at work. He almost feels bad calling Kyle's friends to ask about him, but the worry is making him desperate.

Finally a click and a "_Hello?_"

"Hey, Austin? It's Caleb."

"'_Sup, dude_," Austin says, smile tangible in his voice. "_What can I do for you today?_"

Caleb swallows and sighs. He pauses before saying, "Were you… did you do to that party last night? At Martin's or whatever."

"'_Course, bro. Jonathan and I both went._" Caleb takes a moment to reflect; he and Kyle were obviously right about Austin and Jonathan hooking up. He shakes his head. _Focus_. "Alright. Well, Kyle left early, I'm assuming, and he was really worked up about a comment someone made about—about his, um, weight. So I was, like, wondering if you might know who said it, because he won't tell me."

Austin's side of the line is silent for a minute before he replies. "_I think Jonathan was in that group at that time. Let me get him for you. Hold on_."

There's the sound of hushed voices, then the sound of the phone being handed over. A rustle before Jonathan's bright voice drawls, "_Hey, Caleb. Long time no see. I hope you're faring better than when I first saw you._"

Caleb laughs, though it's hollow and slightly bitter. "Way better, actually. But I wanted to know about Kyle."

"_Yeah, Austin told me. Zack was the one who made a joke about Kyle's weight. None of us knew it'd set him off so bad, you know? I felt terrible afterwards._"

"Zack as in the Zack Merrick that hangs out with Alex?"

"_And Jack. That's the one._"

Caleb instantly stiffens and his mouth goes dry. "D-did you say Jack?" he stammers.

"_Yup. Alex and Jack are dating—have been for awhile, actually. I think Zack's just part of the package_." He pauses like he's finally detected the tremor in Caleb's voice. "_Dude, you alright?_"

_No!_ Caleb wants to scream. _I'm not fucking okay because the guy who insulted my boyfriend is hanging around with the guy who tried to rape me after he got me addicted to heroin._

Instead he says, "Y-yeah. I gotta go, Jonathan. Listen, can you call Zack and tell him to meet me at The White Rabbit around seven?"

"_Yeah_." Jonathan sounds confused. "_Wait, isn't that by your old—_"

"It is," Caleb confirms. "Bye, Jonathan." He hangs up before Jonathan can answer; thumb heavy on the End button. He looks at the clock on his phone with disdain. It was a little past six; shit, he hadn't realized it was so late.

Caleb wasn't really sure why he was meeting up with Zack in person. It would be just as easy to get his number from Jonathan or Austin, call him and tell him what happened. Zack was a nice enough guy to formally apologize to Kyle for such a little mistake.

Or maybe that was why Caleb was so eager to go. It was a little mistake that had escalated into something bigger, something more serious and with more teeth; a harmless joke that caused Kyle to give up food altogether. High school words breaking adult bones.

At quarter to seven Caleb leaves the apartment and locks the door.

* * *

The White Rabbit was a small bar not far from where Jonathan worked, and consequently not too far from the alley that Caleb used to call home. He takes a different route, though, shelling out money and telling the cabbie to go the longer way. He makes it there just a few minutes later because of it, but at least some memories won't come to the surface tonight.

Caleb scopes Zack at the bar, swiveling on a stool. Rolling his shoulders, Caleb walks up to him and puts on a semi-fake smile. "Hey," he greets, and even though they've never actually met or been formally introduced Zack is every bit nice and cordial, returning Caleb's greeting with a much more genuine smile.

"So what's this I hear about Kyle?" he asks as he sips what Caleb assumes to be some kind of exotic martini. Shrugging, Caleb orders a gin. Swirling the drink in the glass, he lets the ice cubes clink against each other before taking a swallow.

"He's just really messed up right now," Caleb says, carefully choosing his words as the liquor burns down his throat. Though he may be aware of Kyle's disorder, he doesn't want to tell anyone else, not until he's actually gathered up the nerve to tell the blonde himself that he knows.

Zack nods. "Yeah. I didn't mean for him to take it personally—it was more of one of those 'you're super skinny so I'll make a fat joke' kind of happenings. Normally everyone else is kinda easygoing about it."

"Yeah, everyone except Kyle."

Zack must detect the anger laced in Caleb's words, and he sighs and looks Caleb in the eyes. "Look, tell him I'm sorry. Or I can come by your apartment later and say it to him. I like the dude; the last thing I wanna do is hurt him." His eyes glint like he knows Caleb isn't telling him something but he doesn't press the issue further.

Caleb exhales and nods. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, Zack." He gives him a little half-smile, tossing back the rest of his gin. "So, since I paid the cab fare to get down here, let's say we actually get to know each other?"

"Yeah, Caleb, tell us about yourself," a voice drawls from the other side of Zack. Caleb clenches the cool glass a little bit tighter when Zack leans back and Jack sneers at Caleb.

Terror envelops the redhead's senses. He shouldn't be this alarmed to see someone, but Jack gives off this _aura_ of danger and trouble. "I—I…" he stammers, looking anywhere except Jack. "It's not necessary."

"I think it is," Jack says conversationally, tipping back his beer.

Zack seems to be immune to the increasing tension between the three of them and says nothing as he finishes off his martini. Caleb gets off the stool and shakily says, "I need to go. Thanks for taking the time out to meet me, Zack."

He's turning to head out the door when Jack purrs, "Not gonna say goodbye to me, Turman?" Ignoring his remark, Caleb walks as fast as he can out of the bar, making a left when he enters into the cool evening. Hailing a cab would've been smarter, or taking a different way home, but Caleb's afraid, too afraid to think.

This way takes him past his old alley. With his hands shoved into his pockets and eyes trained to the pavement, Caleb doesn't see someone start to follow him. His own footsteps are loud to his ears, drowning out anything else. For only eight or so at night the streets are quiet and empty.

He's just nearing his old alley when he hears it. A voice, soft and smooth. Taunting as it says, "Thought you could run, didn't you?" Not close but not far away either. Caleb's chest tightens and he quickens his pace slightly, drawing his bottom lip into his mouth.

He takes a turn at his old alley, knows that from here the apartment isn't too far—maybe a ten-twenty minute walk. The space is dark, puddles gleaming in the meager light cast by streetlamps on the far end. No one else walks by.

"Boo," the voice says, right behind Caleb now, before the brick wall comes closer at an alarmingly fast rate. Caleb closes his eyes right before his head makes impact, seeing stars as the soft skin of his forehead scrapes against the gritty brick. Pain emanates throughout his skull and any words die in his throat and on his tongue, strangled sounds escaping his mouth; the frightened, unintelligible whimper of a puppy.

Blood trickles in warm rivulets down his face, vision split in two as he struggles to regain composure. His arms are being pinned behind his back roughly, Caleb crying out in pain as his wrist is twisted dangerously.

The voice that had been stalking him, taunting him in low undertones as its owner followed Caleb.

Caleb knows that voice, had caught a glimpse of black and blonde hair before he was slipped roughly around. Saying the name will only make it more real, so Caleb thinks _Jack_ as Jack's hands move quickly, unzipping Caleb's jeans methodically. Caleb hears his phone fall to the ground but doesn't have enough clarity to do anything and before he can fully think through a sentence Jack's already kicked it, the plastic covering ricocheting against the opposite wall.

He doesn't struggle, not after the first blow. His world is spinning, his head is throbbing with the force of a thousand jackhammers and the fear of a head injury is replaced with the fear of the forcefulness of Jack's movements.

"You thought you could tell your little boyfriend," Jack hisses, low and dangerous in Caleb's ear. "Thought you could get away and spill our secrets. You thought you were safe, didn't you?" Jack shoves Caleb's shoulder roughly, pushing him closer against the brick.

Caleb chokes back a sob as Jack pulls Caleb's jeans and boxers down to his thighs. He's powerless, helpless to his own fate and this _can't be happening_. He can feel Jack pulling his own jeans down; feel the press of Jack's half-hard cock against his ass.

His life could be ending and Caleb wouldn't be lucid enough to know a goddamn thing.

"D-Don't," he manages to choke out, word falling thick and heavy from his tongue, mouth dry and head spinning. He can't think straight, can't coordinate his arms or legs and _fuck_ his cell phone is probably broken halfway across the alley floor, skidded across the rough asphalt where Jack had kicked it.

Jack laughs, his breath too, too hot against the skin of Caleb's neck, and the redhead swallows back bile at the stench of stale alcohol. "I can do whatever I want," Jack says, rocking against Caleb's ass, hands holding onto the younger man's hips with a vice-like grip. "No one's here to save you."

Caleb whimpers again, trying to turn his head away, biting hard at his bottom lip as a few tears leak from his eyes. "Why are you doing this, Jack?" he asks, voice soft and low and too _weak_; he's weak and he's going to die because of it.

There are a thousand reasons why this could be happening. Caleb knows why it is, because he'd been saved from Jack before by pure fate, and he'd been wrong to assume he was safe. Kyle had tried to help him, but it had only backfired.

Here, in the alley he used to call home, Kyle couldn't save him. No one could.

Here, Jack can finally get what he wants.

Caleb sobs, finally, another dam breaking loose in his tear ducts, thin frame shaking as he gasps in air. Jack may or may not have whispered something into Caleb's ear before he's forcefully pushing into Caleb, and all Caleb can do is scream out in pain, knees buckling and hands splayed feebly on the wall in front of him.

He shakes his head, screams and sobs again as his nails scratch uselessly against the brick, pain in his fingers numbed by the pain of Jack's cock pushing deep into him, dry and just too _much_. Caleb lets out a choked sob when Jack's nails break the skin on his hips. Keeping his exposed hips off the rough brick wall in front of him require effort he just doesn't have, and his knees shake, threatening to send him forward.

It's too late for anyone to hear him. It's too late to be saved. Jack had this planned, and Caleb fell right into his trap like an unsuspecting bug into a spider's web. All he can do is take it, cry and sob and attempt to fight back, arms pinned and body taken, cuts and bruises melding into his skin like brands on cattle. Chanting, _you're mine, you filthy slut, you've always been _mine.

All he can do is pray. Hope for it to be over, see the dawn of a new day.

Caleb rests his bloodied forehead against the brick, biting into his lip so hard he's afraid he'll split it in two as Jack grunts, tightens his grip impossibly harder on Caleb's hips. Lets Jack whispers filthy things into Caleb's ear while his breathing speeds up.

Let Jack moan while he comes, hot and unpleasant, into Caleb. It burns, mixing with the slickness that had started to trickle down his thighs, and Caleb manages another hoarse scream, punctuated with a rattling sob. Blood. He's bleeding.

When Jack lets go and pulls out Caleb falls to the ground, boneless and listless and so broken in a way that goes beyond spirit. Jack leaves without another word except the tinny clinking of a belt and zipper far above as Caleb closes his eyes, curling in on himself as pain spreads throughout his whole body.

That's where he is when Kent finds him when the first rays of morning light are painting the sky. He can't say anything as Kent helps him up, pulls his jeans and boxers up and doesn't say a word. Caleb doesn't feel helpless or embarrassed. He's like a soulless body.

He's just… numb.

He can just barely make out what Kent's saying, catches bits and pieces like _who the fuck did this to you, Caleb_ and _where was Kyle_. Caleb braces all his weight on Kent's shoulders, breathes as quickly as if he's just run a mile.

The touch of another person causes him to jerk slightly, fear and pain running through his senses, before his battered body accepts defeat and he slumps into Kent's arms again. He knows Kent's voice, while admittedly not well, and he can still differentiate between the soothing, concerned pitch of Kent's and the rugged, harsh one of Jack's.

Caleb feels like his throat is lined with cotton. He doesn't know how loud he screamed, or how often, but swallowing hurts, moving hurts, _breathing_ hurts. He just wants the pain to end. Trying to accept that the last few hours actually happened is almost too much.

"Come on," Kent says, sadness tinting his voice as he slings Caleb's arm around his shoulder. Caleb gasps in pain and a flash of Jack twisting his arms behind his back floods his mind, bright and violent and damaging. Automatically he attempts to shy away from the memory, making a noise akin to a low, pained moan in the back of his throat, and whether it's from the memory or the sprained wrist he doesn't care to know.

Kent apologizes quickly, switches to Caleb's other side so he can sling Caleb's good arm across his shoulders. "We've gotta get you to Kyle's." It's the last thing Caleb remembers before he blissfully passes out into black.

* * *

Caleb fades in and out of consciousness as he's transported from the alley to Kent's car to Kyle's apartment. He can make out that Kent's supporting him as the younger man frantically buzzes Kyle's door. When the blonde finally answers, a mix of worried and pissed, Caleb's awake enough to catch the look of absolute horror on Kyle's face.

Catches "What the fuck, Kent. Where did you… Did you find him?"

"The alley. His old one, I think." Caleb feels himself being gently exchanged from Kent's shoulder into Kyle's comforting embrace, the calming scent of Kyle's cologne enveloping Caleb's senses like a warm blanket.

Caleb feels Kyle's gentle hand smooth out over his forehead and he weakly jerks in pain and softly hisses at the sting. Kyle mutters apologetic words and gently deposits Caleb onto the couch before heading somewhere down the hall. Caleb doesn't know, doesn't fucking _care_. He's in too much pain.

When Kyle returns Caleb is shaking, eyes squeezed tightly shut. He feels first Kent's hand on his arm, then Kyle's. He manages to get his mouth open, says something similar to "Kyle…" and reaches out until his fingers enclose around Kyle's hand.

"It'll be okay, Freckles," Kyle says, choking back tears, and rests his other hand on top of Caleb's. "You'll be alright." Caleb forces his eyes open, squints against the harsh lighting, and makes eye contact with Kyle. His heart twists when he sees how red-rimmed Kyle's normally vibrant blue eyes are.

Caleb coughs wetly and attempts to smile. "You… suck at nicknames."

Kyle blinks back tears and laughs shakily. "I know. You always say that." He gently dabs a washcloth soaked in hydrogen peroxide on Caleb's forehead, wincing every time Caleb cries out in pain. When most of the blood is gone and only the raw scratches on Caleb's face remain, Kyle tosses the cloth to Kent, who had been sitting in silence across the room. He barely catches it.

"Put that in the bathroom," Kyle says as he turns to him, "and start up the shower. Please." He doesn't wait for Kent's nod of affirmation before he's kneeling down beside the couch.

"Caleb," he murmurs, softly, petting back the younger man's hair. Caleb blinks his eyes open and shies back from Kyle's touch. "Sorry, sorry. It's just me, Kyle." Kyle waits until the frightened animal look leaves Caleb's eyes before he continues. "Baby, I need you to… We need to get you in the shower and the only way that's going to work is if I take off your clothes."

The words register dark and ominous and completely threatening in Caleb's mind, and he sits up with a strangled noise and pushes Kyle's hands away. Pain racks his body and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut again. He knows Kyle means well, knows he's not going to do what Jack did, but he can't _help it_.

Kyle bites his lip and watches Caleb move to the end of the couch, trembling and cowering as he tries to curl in on himself. "I—" Kyle swallows, words falling thick on his tongue. He tries again. "Caleb, I swear to you I won't do anything. I just want to help you. Please, let me."

Caleb shakes his head and hooks his arms around his knees. With his eyes closed a movie of Jack's leering face plays against the dark screen of his lids. Caleb can't speak, can't function, can't do anything but panic.

Kyle tries again, gingerly sitting down on the other end of the couch. "Cay, babe, please. I would never, ever do that to you. You've just got to trust me." He feels tears slide down his cheeks and doesn't bother to try and attempt to force the waver out of his voice.

"I won't ever hurt you," Kyle presses. "I'm just trying to help."

Caleb shakes his head again and chokes back tears. His entire body aches and his heart feels like it's going to leap out of his mouth through its crazed palpitations. Kyle doesn't make any more advances, doesn't say anything else as he watches Caleb's huddled frame.

Taking deep breaths, Caleb manages to swallow most of his panic and forces himself to lift up his head and open his eyes. He makes eye contact with Kyle, watches a flash of hope light up Kyle's face. Caleb looks down at the cushions as he stammers, "A-alright. Okay."

As gentle as possible Kyle touches Caleb's shoulder, waiting for any form of negative movement from the other boy. When there is none, he slowly tugs Caleb up, biting his lip as Caleb winces in obvious pain. Kyle murmurs gentle encouragements as he slips Caleb's hoodie off first. "You still okay?" he asks softly as he tosses the garment onto the couch.

Caleb nods, though he's not sure why. He's an emotional wreck, sure, but he's lucid enough to realize Kyle really _wouldn't_ ever do anything like that. He's got to trust at least one person in the world. Caleb finds himself leaning onto Kyle as the older boy starts to pull off Caleb's torn shirt.

"Thank you," Caleb whispers, hand clutching desperately onto Kyle's side. He barely hears Kyle whisper back as he feels Kyle's hands on the button of his jeans. Caleb has to take a few deep breaths to calm down, tell himself that this is _Kyle_ and he's not going to do that.

He still holds his breath when Kyle slowly slides Caleb's jeans down until they're caught at his ankles. "Step out," Kyle says softly, holding onto Caleb's arm as the redhead shakily steps back. Kyle kicks the jeans out of the way and disappears into the bathroom for a few seconds.

Caleb wraps his arms around his torso again, trembling like a leaf in the wind. He sees Kent walk past and head into the kitchen, but neither says anything. Kent pointedly doesn't look at Caleb, and for that Caleb's glad.

Kyle reappears from the bathroom, all cautious touches and gentle instructions. "Cay, you're gonna go into the bathroom with me, okay, and I've already got the shower nice and hot, the way that you like it." Caleb nods mechanically and follows Kyle's lead.

Inside the bathroom the mirrors are fogged up with steam. Caleb takes a deep, cleansing breath as Kyle shuts the door with a quiet click. Caleb's glad for the steam, because as he casts glances at the mirrors he tenses up.

Kyle follows Caleb's gaze and quickly reaches for a towel, draping it over the medicine cabinet. He does the best he can with the full-length mirror. Caleb softly says, "Thanks," and flashes a weak smile at the blonde.

Caleb knows what's going to inevitably come next, and he has to force himself to not freak out when Kyle touches the waistband of his boxers. He finds himself saying, "I'm fine… I'm fine, Kyle," before Kyle can even ask. Shocked, Kyle nods and slowly slides the garment down Caleb's legs. Obediently Caleb steps out of it.

Kyle pushes back the shower curtain for Caleb, helping him in and trying his best not to notice the rusty red bloodstains running down the backs of Caleb's pale, skinny thighs. He tugs the curtain shut once Caleb's inside and slides down the wall.

Leaning his head against the wall, Kyle sighs and closes his eyes, feeling a mix of anger and anguish. He tries to ignore the stifled sounds of sobbing from inside the shower, tries to tell himself that this didn't really happen.

Whoever did this to Caleb was going to pay, one way or the other.


	9. Starting Now It's Gonna Be My Turn

To my reviewers: Thank you guys so much. Your reviews mean the world to me, and they're what's keeping my productivity up :) I'm just glad a longer story is working out for once.

* * *

Saying Caleb has nightmares that night is an understatement. It had taken Kyle twenty minutes to convince Caleb to sleep in the bed with him, and another twenty minutes for Caleb to get anywhere close to falling asleep. When he did, the dark recesses of his mind were lurked by a shadowy figure prowling deserted alleyways. His throat burned from a comination of the screams from the alley and the screams brought on by the nightmares. His eyes feel swollen and heavy from crying, burning whenever he draws the lids over them.

More than once Caleb had woken up in a sweat or screaming, and each time Kyle was right there with him, rubbing his back or quietly consoling him, most of the time a mixture of both as Caleb's sweat-soaked chest heaved with panicked breaths. As Caleb limps into the kitchen the next morning, he sees that Kyle's eyes are red-rimmed and lined in dark circles. Just this alone brings him to the brink of tears and he has to stop by the couch and take a deep breath.

Kyle notices this and sets down his coffee mug. "How are you feeling?" he asks gently.

Caleb shakes his head, temporarily mute. He can't voice any of this to Kyle; they both already know that mentally he's fucked up, and that it would take a lot more than therapy to help him out. Instead he makes his way over to the small white Ikea table, grabbing a pillow from the couch as he passes it.

Once he sets the pillow on the chair he gingerly lowers himself down, wincing in pain. Kyle watches him with hurt in his eyes but doesn't say anything, just sips his coffee in silence. Caleb rests his arms on the counter, focusing intently on his hands and the reddish scratch marks on his palms and fingers from the brick wall. As much as he trusts Kyle completely, he doesn't want to talk about this.

Eventually it's Kyle who breaks the silence. "Cay, I think we should get you to the hospital. To check and make sure that you don't have… anything," he says slowly, biting his lower lip as he waits for Caleb's reaction.

At first Caleb is uncomprehending. He was perfectly healthy, no need to go to the hospital. Then it dawns on him: Kyle thinks that Jack might have some STD and that, due to the lack of protection and abrasive intercourse, he could've given it to Caleb.

"I—" Caleb stutters, mouth opening uselessly. This just makes the situation _that much more real_, and this is… it's not something he's sure he can deal with now. His hand shakes as he reaches it up to brush back a strand of hair, refusing to meet Kyle's intent gaze.

Kyle reaches across the table to place his hand on top of Caleb's. "This is serious, Caleb. I don't want anything happening to you. We don't have to tell the doctor what happened. The clinic can take care of it."

Adamantly Caleb shakes his head. "Kyle, I-I can't. I just can't. Do you know how hard this is on me?" He feels his voice rise as he gets irrationally angry. "I was just fucking _raped_." He sniffs, feeling a tear roll down his cheek as his face flushes. He yanks his hands away from Kyle's.

"I know," Kyle says with a slight tremor in his voice, straightening up in his chair. "And I realize that this isn't easy on you. But I want you to be healthy." He pushes his mug to the side and reaches across the table again, brushing his fingers across Caleb's arm.

"Fuck you," Caleb says and pushes Kyle's hand away. He gets back from the table quickly, almost knocking over his chair in the process. By now tears are streaming down his cheeks and he hardly notices the stinging pain from standing up too fast. "Just fuck you. You only want me to be healthy so you can have sex with me."

Kyle blinks a few times, almost owlishly, and he stares at Caleb in a way that the redhead has never seen before. "Caleb, I… you know I would never do that to you. You aren't just sex for me, okay?" Caleb avoids his gaze and shakes his head childishly. Never mind the fact that they _haven't_ really had sex, not in the way that Caleb's irrationally thinking.

"No, no. All I am is just a fucking… a fucking _thing_ for everyone else to destroy. I couldn't even defend myself when someone I knew was pushing me against a wall and raping me." His voice cracks and he feels his knees give out. Caleb sinks to the floor. "If I can't prevent that from happening, what good am I?"

In a second Kyle is kneeling by Caleb, pulling the younger boy into a loose embrace, whispering soothing things as he brushes back Caleb's hair. "No one can predict being jumped like that. None of this is your fault; you've got to realize that. You're just the victim here. We can always press charges against Jack, and—"

"No!" Caleb shouts, wrenching away from Kyle to stare, horrified, at the blonde. "If Jack finds out, he'll… he'll come back, Kyle. He'll come back and then God knows what he'll do to me." He dissolves into a sobbing mess, grabbing onto the front of Kyle's hoodie.

Kyle pets Caleb's hair, wrapping his arms back around him. "Then we won't, if that's what you want. But you've gotta at least go to the doctor with me. I just want to make sure you're okay." He pauses and swallows. "I-I love you."

Caleb blinks and stops breathing for a second. With his head pressed to Kyle's chest he can feel how fast Kyle's heart is beating. Caleb's sure his is matching the tempo. "I love you too," he finally whispers, feeling Kyle's shoulders relax and the other boy let out a shaky laugh of relief from above him.

"Good," Kyle whispers. "I didn't want to scare you off or anything."

Caleb manages a raspy laugh. "You couldn't do that." He leans against Kyle's chest for a few moments, feeling more secure than ever, and just breathes. Eventually he says, "I'll go to the doctor," and feels an anxious twang clutch at his lungs and heart.

The outcome could be good or bad. No middle ground, and that's what has Caleb so frightened. He's only twenty-two. Being infected with an STD is not something he wants to face, or even potentially face. Kyle, sensing his distress, softly presses his lips to the top of Caleb's head.

Kyle doesn't say anything, none of that corny pep-talk _you'll be fine, nothing can happen to you_ shit, and Caleb's glad that at least he's not being the only realistic one. The silence is comfortable enough, and an indeterminable amount of time later Kyle nudges Caleb and says, "Let's go."

Caleb swallows and nods, feeling shaky and anxious all at once. Kyle helps him up, Caleb still wincing, and they head out of the apartment. Kyle's car isn't that far from the building, but every step feels like ten for Caleb. He hides his discomfort whenever Kyle glances back at him.

Like a gentleman Kyle opens the passenger side door for Caleb and helps him in without a word. Caleb sees it in Kyle's eyes that he knows how much pain Caleb's in but is also aware that right now, Caleb doesn't want to hear anything. Once he gets situated as comfortably as possible Kyle closes the door and heads for the driver's side.

After Kyle starts the car and backs out of his parking space, he casts a side-glance at Caleb and moves a hand from the steering wheel to rest just above Caleb's knee, touch as light as a feather and almost imperceptibly there.

Caleb manages a half-smile and the ride to the hospital is an amicable silence pierced with worry.

* * *

Caleb begins freaking out again once they're inside the hospital. He clings closely to Kyle and his eyes remain perma-large. "What do I ask?" he questions worriedly. "I don't really want to—to talk about it."

Kyle kisses his cheek consolingly, knowing anything else would cause Caleb to freak out even more. "I can talk about it, if you want me to. They'll understand."

Caleb feels like he can't breathe. The walls are closing in on him, and each step towards the nurse's station is a drumbeat of death. A whimper breaks loose from Caleb's throat and he all but hides behind Kyle when they approach the nurse.

She looks to be in her mid-forties with a kind smile accented by crow's feet and dimples. Kyle smiles back at her, and for a split second her dark brown eyes dart to Caleb's shaking form. She doesn't say anything about him, instead asking what they're here for.

Kyle does end up speaking. He says, "I didn't have time to make an appointment, but this is kind of an emergency." He chooses his next words carefully, knowing just how some people are about giving healthcare to gay couples. "My friend had a… incident last night," he continues quietly. "He doesn't want to talk about it, but we both think it's best if he got some testing done today."

The nurse looks at Kyle, sadness in her eyes. She seems to catch the drift without the blonde elaborating anymore on the situation. "I'm pretty sure we can get him in with Dr. Campbell today." She types a few things into her computer and looks back up at Kyle. "Go wait in the waiting room. He'll be with you shortly." She casts one more glance at Caleb's shaking body as they walk away.

Kyle puts an arm around Caleb's shoulder, steering him toward a plastic chair. Sitting next to him, Kyle pulls the redhead close, carding his fingers through Caleb's hair. He breaks his silent promise not to say anything full of false hope and says, "You'll be okay."

Caleb sniffles, grabbing onto the hem of Kyle's hoodie. "I hope so."

"You will be." Caleb's at least not deathly sick, not beaten or something worse. Kyle closes his eyes tightly, fighting back the sting of tears. He doesn't know what he'll do if Caleb tests positive for anything, or if he never recovers from the trauma of this. He should've been there at the bar when Caleb left.

"You didn't know," Caleb's soft voice replies, and Kyle hadn't realized that he'd said that out loud. "He had set it up." Tears fill his eyes, distorting his vision, and teeter for a moment on the brink before falling down in shiny rivulets, sliding to the end of his chin and dripping off.

"Shh," Kyle murmurs, petting Caleb's hair. "Baby, it's okay." He sings something, low in his throat, even though he knows Caleb has the nicer voice. It seems to calm the redhead down slightly, and his shaky sobs gradually taper down to light sniffles.

Eventually a doctor comes into the room and calls Caleb's name. "That's us," Kyle whispers to Caleb, gently helping him up. He holds onto Caleb's waist as the redhead steadies himself on his feet, and the doctor gives them a sympathetic voice and says, "Follow me down here. Dr. Campbell will only be a few more minutes."

They walk behind him, silent and somber, and Caleb wants anything to be _away_ from here. The doctor motions towards the room and allows them inside before shutting the door. Caleb sits on the table and Kyle opts for a chair a few feet away.

"What—what do you think they're gonna do?" Caleb asks with a waver in his voice.

"I don't know, Cay. Ask you questions, probably. I think they'll draw blood. Nothing too serious."

Caleb swallows and rubs the top of his hand nervously, looking down at his shoes. "D'you think that if I ask they'll… they'll give me a prescription for Ambien?" Kyle gives him a curious look.

"I haven't been sleeping well," Caleb clarifies, which is true. "I just… if I do something this might go away. I want to forget all of this, Kyle."

Kyle sighs. "Sleeping pills won't do that for you."

Anger rises up inside Caleb. He grits his teeth and turns to look at the stark whiteness of the wall. He knows he's being irrational, but he honestly can't help it. "I don't want to dream about it anymore. I close my eyes and all I can see is… is _him_." His voice cracks and Caleb bites his lip hard to keep from crying.

Even when Kyle had first seen Caleb, he was always strong, feisty. He had a comeback for everything. Had Kyle known Caleb's demons were this bad, or that someone in his old life hated him _so much_ that they'd do this to him, maybe he would've been more protective. When he confronted Jack he should've told Caleb.

"I'm sorry," is what Kyle whispers.

"I talked to Jack at the party," he says next. "I asked him about you. He said he was with Alex now—that that part of his life was over." Kyle tries to avoid Caleb's stare, the horror and hurt all welling up into some big storm behind those irises. "Protecting you was my main goal. I didn't want you to get hurt."

Caleb opens his mouth and closes it, like he's contemplating. He finally speaks when Kyle gets up and lays a hand on his shoulder. "I can't believe you." His voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "If you hadn't tried to be all noble this wouldn't have happened!" Gradually his voice gets louder, shriller, and Kyle shrinks back under the intensity of the words.

"Caleb—"

"No, don't." Caleb's mouth is set in a fine line and he turns away from Kyle, pushing his hand off his shoulder, crinkling the paper on the table as he shifts. "It's not… I don't blame you for what—what happened to me." He doesn't let Kyle know that that was the reason Jack cornered him, that he said those words and how no one could save him anymore. "I've just never been so scared in my whole life."

A small knock on the door keeps Kyle from replying, and he sits back down in the chair dejectedly, watching as a tall, dark-haired man steps into the room and closes the door behind him. He quickly looks down at his keyboard, then at Caleb. He smiles warmly, and Caleb tries his best to reciprocate.

"I'm Dr. Campbell," he says. "You must be Caleb. What seems to be the problem?"

"I—I need some… testing. STD testing," Caleb replies quietly, eyes down and heart beating rapidly. Dr. Campbell doesn't say anything as his pen scratches along the paper on the clipboard. Caleb closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as the silence starts to become unbearable.

"Alright, Caleb. We'll take a mouth swab, take that in for testing, and call you with the results." Dr. Campbell's voice is soft and kind, and when Caleb opens his eyes to look at him, there's none of the laughing, condescending air he was expecting. This time, Caleb's smile is a little more genuine.

Kyle gets up and goes to stand by the table. Caleb glances at him, and before the doctor can step out the door he blurts, "I was just wondering if, as well, I could get a prescription to Ambien."

Dr. Campbell raises an eyebrow, and Caleb knows how this must probably look, some scared kid asking for STD testing then asking for sleeping pills. Kyle sighs and just barely manages to not roll his eyes as he adds, "Caleb hasn't been sleeping well. Believe me, he needs this."

With a nod Dr. Campbell scribbles down a prescription on the pad, tears it off, and hands it to Caleb. "Take this to the hospital pharmacy. There your prescription will get filled. Just be careful." He gives a meaningful look to Caleb, who pretends to ignore while vocalizing his thanks.

"Come on," Kyle says as he helps Caleb off the table. "Let's get the pills and go home."

* * *

The see-through orange-colored bottle feels heavy in Caleb's hands, pills crashing together as he rolls the bottle in his palms. Resting his head against the headrest, he closes his eyes as Kyle stops at a red light. "You okay?" Caleb hears Kyle ask. The redhead nods, says, "I'm feeling better. Don't worry." They're both silent until Kyle pulls into the parking garage of his apartment.

"Listen," Kyle starts, putting the car in park and rubbing the heel of his palms over his eyes. "If you need any help at all, Caleb, I'm here. Or we can call a therapist."

All at once the seriousness of the situation sinks in and Caleb feels like he's drowning, everything over his head and out of his control. He can only manage a weak nod and grips tighter onto the bottle of pills. "Yeah, thanks, Kyle." He swallows the lump in his throat and unbuckles his seatbelt. Kyle's hand on his shoulder for the second time that day stops him. Caleb turns around, drawing his bottom lip into his mouth.

"I'm here," Kyle reiterates, eyes and voice solemn.

Caleb nods and fingers the childproof cap of his prescription. "I know."


	10. Trade Baby Blues For WideEyed Browns

This is insanely short. I apologize. I'm just having a fit of not being interested in this story for the time being, so hopefully this all changes soon. Throwing them both off to rehab is like when Maura West's character Carly in _As The World Turns_ went off to rehab while Maura was on maternity leave haha.

* * *

The nightmares don't stop.

Caleb takes more and more pills, trying to grasp that elusive euphoria of sleep. At first, he follows the dosage. Eventually he works his way up, taking one, then two more pills than necessary. He doesn't sleep as much as he passes out anymore. He tells himself that it's okay. He's had a traumatic experience and everyone has their coping mechanisms, like Kyle and his aversion for food.

But like every coping mechanism, it should pass. That's what Caleb says. Everyone has phases, it's perfectly normal, and Caleb knows that he himself had had periods where food didn't appeal to him. Kyle has those too, but they almost always pass after a few days.

Except… Kyle's still not eating, and it's been almost a week.

Worry is predominant in Caleb's mind as Kyle pushes his chair back at the table and dumps away yet another unfinished dinner. Caleb slumps in his chair, taking a deep breath as he hears the familiar click of the bathroom door, then the telltale gush of water from the faucet.

Caleb restrains himself enough not to break a dish as he chucks it into the sink before sitting back at the table, cradling his head in his hands. He couldn't believe that he didn't have the balls to stop this, or at least _confront_ Kyle about it.

Caleb's heroin addiction was a thing of the past, buried deep in the rubble of his former life where it belonged. Had Kyle taken him in because of their similarities with addictions and disorders, or did he feel a genuine urge to perform a charitable deed with someone he found attractive?

He stands up, swaying slightly as he pushes the chair back with the backs of his knees, and rolls back his shoulders. The only way to stop this was to bring it out into the open. Caleb was done playing with both his heart and Kyle's health. The proclamation of love he'd parroted back to Kyle meant something.

Tomorrow things were going to change.

* * *

"How long have you had an eating disorder?"

So it may not be the best way to start a morning conversation, but Caleb had spent a night on the couch, tossing and turning in worry, sleeping pills forgotten momentarily. He couldn't bring himself to step foot into their bedroom and his nerves were frayed and his temper short. There was no beating around the bush this time.

Looking up, Kyle's eyes widen in shock before it passes, just a flicker, and he betrays no emotion. He wraps his hands around his mug, eyes downcast, chewing on his lip as he avoids Caleb's question. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he says quietly after a tense silence.

"Don't play dumb with me," Caleb snaps. "I'm not fucking stupid."

"I have this under control—"

"Bullshit!" Caleb shouts, shocking both himself and Kyle when he raises his voice. He sets his jaw and anger flashes behind his eyes. Kyle looks so small, drawing in on himself as he grips his mug tightly, eyes Bambi-large and hair still skewed from an uneasy night of sleep. "You haven't touched food in days, Kyle. You're always making yourself throw up. I'm not an idiot, and if that's the kind of stupid, oblivious guy you had in mind when you picked me up off the street you thought wrong."

Kyle opens his mouth in silent shock. "Caleb, baby, I don't think that about you—"

"Shut up," Caleb growls, cutting Kyle off for a second time. "Don't call me baby. Don't call me _anything_ if you're going to continue to lie to me like you have been. Just because I used to stick myself with needles doesn't give you a free pass to parade your fucking bulimia around in front of me every day."

In the back of his mind Caleb is shocked that this is coming up out his mouth, but he can't stop the flow of words. He's been bottling it up for so long that getting it all off his chest is strangely relieving. What he doesn't expect, though, is for Kyle to get up and step around the table to stand in front of him. Even though Kyle and Caleb are the same height, and Caleb is built more heavily, the redhead is immediately intimidated and has to stop himself from shrinking back in a sudden display of fear.

"You think I'm _parading_ it?" Kyle hisses, eyes narrowed. "You think I _want_ to be like this, so concerned with my physical appearance that I have to resort to destroying myself to seem beautiful? Just because you bounced back from your unfortunate turn of events doesn't give you a higher pedestal and the rights to act like you're better than me."

Caleb keeps his mouth shut, momentarily thinking how ironic it is that he and Kyle have switched positions completely. Kyle's lip draws back in a sneer, and Caleb has never seen him this furious. He trembles slightly when Kyle speaks again. "How about we talk about your pill addiction."

It's not a statement, not a question, only a dark threat, full to the brim and anything but empty. "I—I don't have one," Caleb says, tries to defend himself, but Kyle's having none of it.

"Like hell you don't," the blonde replies and Caleb takes an involuntary step back when Kyle advances on him. "Ever since you were raped you've been popping those pills like they were candy." He grips Caleb's bicep tightly. The redhead closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath. He'd never wanted to be in a relationship like this. Rationally he knows that he's pushed Kyle to his limits, that normally he'd never let himself get like this.

"That prescription is supposed to be up a month or so from now. I checked the bottle this morning when your sorry self was sleeping on the couch. You're almost empty. We got that filled _a week and a half ago_, Caleb."

Fuck. He hadn't realized he'd been consuming so many pills; he'd been so worried and stressed lately that it had become just second nature to reach for the orange-tinted bottle. The weight of the pills in his palm had become almost like a part of his skin. Defeat makes his frame sag and Kyle releases his grip. The anger leaves his face and he steps back.

"I didn't realize," Caleb says in a small voice.

"That's a hard one to believe," Kyle says, raising an eyebrow.

Caleb looks at Kyle, eyes red from crying. "I guess we're both pretty fucked up," he says. He doesn't try to mention that Kyle hasn't owned up to anything just yet.

"I guess we are."

Caleb swallows and doesn't say anything as he mulls thoughts over in his head. "If we—if we both get help, then this could work out. I really love you. I do."

Kyle starts to say something but cuts himself off before he gets past the first syllable. Caleb knows he's trying to deny that he has a problem, but one look at his ever-shrinking body mass and it's not hard to notice that there's something wrong.

"It could," Kyle acquiesces. He looks unsure, frightened even, as he says this.

"Then make it happen," Caleb says, voice cracking. "I don't want anything to happen to us, to _this_."

Kyle starts to shake his head before pausing. Caleb mentally recalls his promise not to let this screw them up and wonders if he's maybe a little too late on that now. "Please," Caleb begs. "Do this for yourself, if no one else."

Briefly Kyle's eyes glint. "How about _both_ of us?"

* * *

How Caleb ends up in their bed, knees down on the slightly rough comforter and Kyle's cock buried deep in him, he'll probably never know. One minute they were fighting and the next Kyle was pushing and shoving, lips pressed to Caleb's as he led them to the bedroom.

"I'm making this one count," he'd said when they'd pulled apart for air. "I said I love you and I meant it." That was fifteen minutes ago. Now Caleb's short of breath, lost in pleasure as he bounces on Kyle's lap. "Fuck," he gasps, brushing back his hair.

Caleb can't help but notice Kyle's ribs, the too-thin thighs. For their first time it's almost too bittersweet to enjoy, but Caleb overlooks it as he leans down, Kyle thrusting into him, to share a heated kiss with the blonde.

"I love you," Kyle whispers, hands cradling Caleb's face. His blue eyes are serious, sky-blue color darkened to navy, and Caleb believes him. He believes Kyle really is willing to get clean, that no matter what they'd end up together.

"I love you, too," Caleb moans, fisting is cock as his back arches. It only takes two, three pulls before he's coming with a shudder. Kyle thrusts twice more before his body goes taut and he moans as he releases into the condom.

They curl up together, heated skin against heated skin, and Caleb nuzzles into the crook of Kyle's neck while the older man cards his fingers through his hair. "I'll call tomorrow morning," Kyle says in a tight voice. The vibrations rumble up through his throat.

Caleb worries his bottom lip. "Okay."

The kiss they share is melancholic. Neither knows what's going to happen after tomorrow. "Don't make this goodbye," Caleb whispers as he clings to Kyle. "Please."

"I won't," Kyle whispers back. "I promise."


End file.
